“Very lonesome indeed, my child.”
“And won’t you be very sorry?” she asked, smoothing his hair with her small hand.
“No, not very sorry, darling. I shall be glad because it will be for your good,” said De Crespigney, trying to look as if he meant what he said.
“You have got Aunty Agrippina and your books and your music to keep you company. But David Lindsay! Oh, Marcel, David Lindsay!” said the child, as the tears filled her eyes.
“What of him, my pet?” asked the colonel very gravely.
“Oh, he has got nobody but me, and no music nor books but what I bring him. Oh, poor David Lindsay! What will he do?” sighed Glo’.
“He will do very well, my dear. He will be busy with his fishing.”
“But he can’t be always fishing! And he will have nobody to play with, or to read with, or to bring him books, or—oh, dear! what shall we do? Oh, I can’t go to school, Marcel! I can’t! How can I go and leave you and David Lindsay?” broke forth the child, in a wail of distress.
“I and David Lindsay must try and console each other, in our little lady’s absence, with the thought that it is all for her good that she has gone. We shall do very well,” said the colonel, more gravely and tenderly than he had yet spoken.
“Oh, will you? Will you? Will you comfort David Lindsay? Will you lend him some books? Oh, he is so hungry for books, uncle dee-ar. I am going to give him all mine before I go away; but mine are only a few, and he will soon read them all. Will you lend him some? Will you, Marcel, dee-ar?”