Dutch sighed again, but it was with satisfaction, as with a mingling of tender love and anxiety the little woman rose, and, throwing one arm round his neck, laid her soft little cheek to his.
“Matter! No, dear. Why?” he said, trying to smile.
“You looked so dull and ill all at once, as if in some pain.”
“Did I? Oh, it was nothing, only I was a little bothered.”
“May I know what about?”
“Well, yes, dear,” he said, playing with her soft hair, as he drew her down upon his knee. “The fact is that Mr Parkley is anxious for some attention to be paid to this Cuban gentleman—this Mr Lauré.”
“And he wants us to ask him here,” said Hester, gravely; and for a moment a look of pain crossed her face.
“Yes. How did you know?” he cried, startled at her words.
“I can’t tell,” she replied, smiling again directly. “I seemed to know what you were going to say by instinct.”
“But we cannot have him here, can we?” said Dutch, eagerly. “It would inconvenience you so.”