“Oh, never mind me; I shall be quite happy. I don’t mind being alone. Besides, there is always the Squire, you know.”
“But he doesn’t play with you.”
“No,” answered Bertie, with his grave smile, “he doesn’t play;” and then the little boy smiled again, as if such an idea amused him.
“And he doesn’t talk much either, does he?”
“No, not much.”
“And you don’t see him often?”
“Not very often, perhaps; but I can always sit in his library when I like.”
“Well,” remarked Queenie, tossing back her curly head, “I can’t quite see what good the Squire can be to you, if he doesn’t play, and doesn’t talk, and only lets you sit in his library.”
Bertie smiled again in the way that Queenie never quite understood.
“I like him to be just as he is,” answered the little boy. “I shouldn’t like him to be a bit different. He is just right, I think.”