He had come close to the Earl's chair, and, as he drew forth the little case, he leaned against the arm of it, and against the old man's arm, too, as confidingly as if children had always leaned there.
“There she is,” he said, as the case opened; and he looked up with a smile.
The Earl knitted his brows; he did not wish to see the picture, but he looked at it in spite of himself; and there looked up at him from it such a pretty young face—a face so like the child's at his side—that it quite startled him.
“I suppose you think you are very fond of her,” he said.
“Yes,” answered Lord Fauntleroy, in a gentle tone, and with simple directness; “I do think so, and I think it's true. You see, Mr. Hobbs was my friend, and Dick and Bridget and Mary and Michael, they were my friends, too; but Dearest—well, she is my CLOSE friend, and we always tell each other everything. My father left her to me to take care of, and when I am a man I am going to work and earn money for her.”
“What do you think of doing?” inquired his grandfather.
His young lordship slipped down upon the hearth-rug, and sat there with the picture still in his hand. He seemed to be reflecting seriously, before he answered.
“I did think perhaps I might go into business with Mr. Hobbs,” he said; “but I should LIKE to be a President.”
“We'll send you to the House of Lords instead,” said his grandfather.
“Well,” remarked Lord Fauntleroy, “if I COULDN'T be a President, and if that is a good business, I shouldn't mind. The grocery business is dull sometimes.”