Tessa slipped round the table to his side, clasping her glass tightly. As she came within the circle of his arm she whispered, "Yes, I love them ever such a lot. But I love you best of all, except Uncle Everard, and he doesn't want me when he's got Aunt Stella. I s'pose you never wanted a little girl for your very own did you?"
He looked down at her, his blue eyes full of tenderness. "I've often wanted you, Tessa," he said.
"Have you?" she beamed upon him, rubbing her flushed cheek against his shoulder. "I'm sure you can have me if you like," she said.
He pressed her to him. "I don't think your mother would agree to that, you know."
Tessa's red lips pouted disgust. "Oh, she wouldn't care! She never cares what I do. She likes it much best when I'm not there."
Bernard's brows were slightly drawn. His arm held the little slim body very closely to him.
"You and I would be so happy," insinuated Tessa, as he did not speak. "I'd do as you told me always. And I'd never, never be rude to you."
He bent and kissed her. "I know that, my darling."
"And when you got old, dear Uncle St. Bernard,—really old, I mean—I'd take such care of you," she proceeded. "I'd be—more—than a daughter to you."
"Ah!" he said. "I should like that, my princess of the bluebell eyes."