He had imagination enough to recognise at the present moment in the child’s uplifted face some wistful thought she did not know how to express, and he responded to it by speaking again.
“They’ll be prettier rooms than these,” he said. “What do you say?”
Her glance wandered across the hearth to where the cradle stood in the corner with Lucinda in it. Then she looked up at him again.
“Prettier than this,” she repeated, “with flowers. But don’t take this away.” The feeling which stirred her flushed her childish cheek and made her breath come and go faster. She drew still nearer to him.
“Don’t take this away,” she repeated, and laid her hand on his.
“Why?” asked Tom, giving her a curious look.
She met the look helplessly. She could not have put her vague thought into words.
“Don’t—don’t take it away,” she said again, and suddenly laid her face upon his great open palm.
For a minute or two there was silence. Tom sat very still and looked at the fire.
“No,” he said at length, “we won’t take it away.”