'Yes. I am going to Norway for the summer.'
I could not tell exactly when I made up my mind to this, but I know that I had had no intention of the kind when Babiole came into my study that afternoon. She remained quite silent for a few minutes. Then she asked softly—
'When will you come back, Mr. Maude?'
'Oh, about—September, I think.'
'The place won't seem the same without you.'
'Why, child, when you are about on the hills I never see you.'
'No, but—but I always have a feeling that the good genius is about, and—do you know, I think I shall be afraid to take such long walks alone with Ta-ta when you're not here!'
My heart went out to the child. With a passionate joy in the innocent trust one little human creature felt towards me, the outcast, I was on the point of telling her, as carelessly as I could, that I had not quite made up my mind yet, when she broke the spell as unwittingly as she had woven it.
'Oh, Mr. Maude,' she cried, with fervent disappointment; 'then your friends—Mr. Scott—and the rest—they won't come here this year?'
'No,' said I coolly, but with no sign of the sudden chill her words had given me, 'I shall invite them to Norway this year.'