"Yes, indeed."
"I—I want to thank you—oh, I do want to thank you, but I don't know how." Genevieve's eyes were misty.
"For the watch? You like it, then?"
"Like it! I just love it; and I never, never saw such a beauty!"
"I'm glad you like it."
There was a moment's pause. Over by the dressing-table Miss Jane was carefully smoothing a refractory lock of hair into place. She looked so calm, so self-contained, so—far away, thought Genevieve; if it had been Aunt Julia, now!
Suddenly the girl gave a little skipping run and enveloped the lady in two wide-flung young arms, thereby ruffling up more than ever the carefully smoothed lock of hair.
"Miss, Jane, I—I've just got to hug you, anyway!"
"Why, Genevieve, my dear!" murmured Miss Jane, a little dazedly.
From the door Genevieve called back incoherently—the hug had been as short in duration as it had been sudden in action: