"No, not exactly. It wasn't her I was in a hurry to bring; it was myself."
"Ah! you wanted to be kissed, did you?"
"No, sir. I didn't want to be kissed; but I did so want to kiss you,
Percivale."
"Isn't it all the same, though, darling?" he said. "It seems so to me."
"Sometimes, Percivale, you are so very stupid! It's not the same at all. There's a world of difference between the two; and you ought to know it, or be told it, if you don't."
"I shall think it over as soon as you leave me," he said.
"But I'm not going to leave you for a long time. I haven't seen you paint for weeks and weeks,—not since this little troublesome thing came poking in between us."
"But she's not dressed yet."
"That doesn't signify. She's well wrapped up, and quite warm."
He put me a chair where I could see his picture without catching the shine of the paint. I took the baby from him, and he went on with his work.