The child’s face had been pinched and wan the moment before, but at the sound of that well-remembered voice the blood came rushing back, and the light sprang into the wistful eyes.
“Oh, sir, you have come back!” she exclaimed, as though the sunshine itself had returned with him.
“Yes, I have come back. Did you think I had gone for good? I shall be going away again by-and-by; but I am here for a few weeks. What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you last? Sitting for any more pictures?”
“No, sir, I’ve only been selling matches.”
“Which do you like best?”
Bertram was almost sorry he had put the question, for sudden tears sprang to the child’s eyes, and he saw that she could not reply. Some chord of memory had been struck. Plainly she could not think of those happy days at Hampstead without suffering the pangs of longing and regret.
“There, there,” he said kindly, “perhaps there will be some more sitting for pictures to do by-and-by, but the ladies are in the country still. We are not living at Hampstead just now.”
“No, sir, I know. And are the ladies quite well?”
“Yes, quite. I hear from them often. They are in a very pretty place.”
The child’s face lighted and beamed all over.