“Oh, Lulie, the bare idea of such formality between old friends!” I said, taking a seat near her.
“Well, we will not deem it a breach of form for the sake of old times.”
“What a pity it is,” said I, half musing, “that people grow older and colder in their natures. We were so happy as children. Do you remember the day in the nursery, long ago?”
“Yes, I believe I do; but tell me about your Sound adventure now, I am all impatience to hear that.”
I detailed minutely every circumstance connected with the affair, and dwelt particularly upon the little girl’s superb beauty, hoping thereby to raise a spark of envy in Lulie’s heart, for I was piqued at her only believing to remember about the nursery scene. As I pictured to her the wavy black hair, the gazelle like eyes and chiselled features of Carlotta, I thought I detected a glance towards the opposite mirrors, where her own tumbled curls and merry blue eyes were reflected. When I had concluded she sat for some time in thought, then softly said:
“No father—no mother—no home!”
I knew then that envy found no room in a heart so full of pity and love.
“What is to be done with her?” she said, at length.
“I don’t know; I am trying to get father to adopt her, and I think he is half inclined to do so.”