For a time nobody said anything more. Then Madam Calthorp resumed, but in a very kindly and sympathetic tone: “Yes, my darling, we can no longer indulge in any luxury.”
Steenie found courage to speak again. “I don’t know what that is. But Tito isn’t a ‘luxury,’ is he? He’s just a dear, darling little horse!”
“Which, under our changed circumstances, means that he is a luxury, as well.”
“You mustn’t! You shall not! You dare not! He’s mine—mine—mine!”
“Steenie!” said the father, in a pained voice, and opening his lips for the first time.
The child flew to him in a passion of tears. “She can’t—she—she—He’s folks! He can’t be sold. It would—break—his very—heart!”
Touched by the distress of her little friend, Beatrice grew angry and resentful also, and darted to her own father, who put his arm about her and kissed her, glad of anything upon which to vent his emotion; for it must be owned that the big, wise man was almost as vexed and uncomfortable as the two children were.
Mrs. Courtenay walked over to the bay-window and examined an album of etchings, trying, but failing, to appear at ease. To all present it was a very unpleasant scene.
Yet there was no disputing the plain common-sense of Madam Calthorp’s decision, who, it is also true, had no real conception of the strength of the bond between the child and her beloved four-footed friend, her only playmate during all her little life.
Steenie had parted from Tito at Santa Felisa, bravely and cheerfully as she could, “for Papa’s sake;” but she had believed it to be a parting for a time, merely. She had then full faith in the cure of her father’s blindness, which was to be effected by some unknown physician in an equally unknown “East;” and she had looked forward to a joyful return and reunion, when everything and everybody was to be even happier than before.