"I should love to—it is not an impossible distance from us. I will go over to see her, if you will tell her about me—so that she won't think some stranger is descending upon her some day!"
"She will be so pleased," and he thought that he would be happier knowing that they were friends.
"Does she mean a great deal to you? Some mothers do," and she sighed—her own was less than emptiness—they had never been near, and now her stepfather and the step-family claimed all the affection her mother could feel.
"She is a great dear—one of my best friends," and his eyes beamed. "We have always been pals—because I have no brothers and sisters I suppose she spoilt me!"
"I daresay you were quite a nice little boy!" Amaryllis smiled—"and it must be divine to have a son—I expect it would be easy to spoil one."
Denzil clasped his hands rather tightly—she looked so adorable as she said that, her eyes soft with inward knowledge of her great hope. How impossible it all was that they must remain strangers—casual cousins and nothing more.
"It must be an awful responsibility to have children," he said, watching her. "Don't you think so?"
The pink flared up again as she answered a rather solemn "Yes."
Then she went on, a little hurriedly:
"One would try to study their characters and lead them to the highest good, as gardeners watch over and train plants until they come to perfection. But what funny, serious things we are talking about," and she gave a little, nervous laugh—"Like two old grandfather philosophers."