“The boy can do anything,” he would say to himself, “anything!”
He never spoke to any one else of his feeling for Cedric; when he spoke of him to others it was always with the same grim smile. But Fauntleroy soon knew that his grandfather loved him and always liked him to be near—near to his chair if they were in the library, opposite to him at table, or by his side when he rode or drove or took his evening walk on the broad terrace.
“Do you remember,” Cedric said once, looking up from his book as he lay on the rug, “do you remember what I said to you that first night about our being good companions? I don't think any people could be better companions than we are, do you?”
“We are pretty good companions, I should say,” replied his lordship. “Come here.”
Fauntleroy scrambled up and went to him.
“Is there anything you want,” the Earl asked; “anything you have not?”
The little fellow's brown eyes fixed themselves on his grandfather with a rather wistful look.
“Only one thing,” he answered.
“What is that?” inquired the Earl.
Fauntleroy was silent a second. He had not thought matters over to himself so long for nothing.