“No,” she said, gently; “I am getting used to it now.”
“Brave little bird!” he said, raising both her hands to his lips and kissing them, before letting them fall; “then I shall come back some evening and hear you warbling once again. I have not heard you sing since the last evening I spent in Bedford Square long months ago.”
He saw her countenance change, and he went on hastily:
“By the way, has Sarah Plant bought everything for you that you require?”
“Oh, yes,” she said; “far more.”
“That’s right. I am so ignorant about such matters. Pray do not hesitate to give her orders. Do you know,” he continued, as he sat down and began to warm his hands, gazing the while with wrinkled brow at the fire, “I have been doing something to-day in fear and trembling.”
“Indeed?” she said, anxiously.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, as he took up the poker and began to softly tap pieces of unburned coal into glowing holes. “My conscience has been smiting me horribly about you, my child. I come back after fidgeting all day about your being so lonely and dull, with nothing but those serious books about you—by the way, did they send in that parcel from the library?”
“Yes. Thank you for being so thoughtful about me, Mr Garstang.”
“Oh, nonsense! But I think, my child, we could get rid of that formal Mr Garstang. Do you think you could call me guardian, little maid?”