“Oh, how strange! why, he is just as old as papa, and I keep fancying him a little boy.”
[p143]
“No, dear, no,” sighed Madame Giche. “And so papa is thirty-three?” she asked.
“Yes, just the age of Mr. Mortimer; they kept their last birthday together—you know—in Italy,” was the quivering response. She could not speak of her absent ones so calmly as her aged friend.
“But papa is better, is he not, my dear?” questioned Madame Giche cheerfully, noting the tremor in her voice.
“Oh, yes! and seeing and doing so much, he is almost well—and—and having his heart’s desire, at last, in seeing Rome.”
“Was he never there before?”
“No, not since he was a very little boy. But Mr. Mortimer was; he has travelled a great deal; he married his wife abroad—in Switzerland, I think.”
“Ah, indeed!” and again Madame Giche sighed.
“Yes, I think—I think he was tutor to a young gentleman there. You know, he does not mind my telling you; he often talks to people about that time—he doesn’t mind a bit,” said the conscientious little girl.
[p144]
Just then the twins brought Inna a letter from Italy, and from her mamma. Madame Giche saw how the child’s hand trembled at taking it, and drew the two little girls away, to let her read it in peace.