"By it, sometimes," she admitted, "but I don't often mention you."
"Would you not think me very stiff, if I called you Miss Le Mesurier?" he asked, seeking to plead with her.
"Yes," she confessed, "but that is—that is different." Then she glanced up swiftly. The appeal in his voice was not lost upon her, and she wanted the evidence of her eyes to aid in reassuring herself, that he was not really hurt—that he did not seriously care. The eyes that met hers were brimming with fun, but beneath shone love and tenderness—love and tenderness so unmistakable, so all-convincing, that even Hazel could read, though she hardly understood. And just discernible, though on the surface only, Hazel comforted herself, was a faint, wistful shadow, a tiny cloud over the depth of brilliant happiness, and all because she could not bring herself to take the leap—such a little leap it must appear to him—of calling him Paul to his face.
"I will try some day," she said piteously, "but you must not mind if I can't. You don't mind, do you?" she asked anxiously.
"I should like to hear you say it, Hazel," he answered gravely, tenderly. "Is it so very hard, little one?"
For all answer the red cap nodded vigorously.
"Then I must be patient a while longer," he said, suppressing a sigh. When would the child know her mind and love him? It was inexpressibly sweet, this shy reception of his loving attention and most inadequate response to the warmth of his advances. There was an indescribable charm in the quick glance that returned his steady regard, in the slight, cool pressure of the little hand that could only be retained in his warm clasp very much against its will. She still preferred the presence of her beloved brothers with herself and Paul, to being alone with him.
Then, to his comfort, a vivid recollection of her face recurred to his mind, when he had told her he was going away for some months. She had faced round upon him quickly, looking very white and perplexed.
"But you can't," she had persisted again and again. "You can't—you are engaged to me."
"I promised your mother that I would go," he returned, watching her face closely. "Only she can release me, but I shall not ask her to do so—it would not be honourable. Shall you care, Hazel? Shall you miss me?"