“What a shame! Go at once, sir.”
“No, no; don’t send me away at present.”
“Well, you must go presently, Harry,” she said, softly; “I’m so glad you are fond of Julie.”
“Bless her! I love her very much,” he said. “She’s the dearest, sweetest, sisterly little body I ever met. I always feel as if I should like to kiss her when I shake hands, and her pretty little lips seem to look up to one so naturally. Cynthy, darling, I often wished I had a sister, and—and now I’m to have one, am I not?”
“I don’t know—perhaps,” she said, looking down.
“I told Magnus one day I wished I had a sister for his sake. Thank goodness the song’s done. Let’s clap our hands, for joy.”
They clapped their hands, as did every one else, but of course not for joy.
“I like Mr Magnus,” said Cynthia, thoughtfully.
“He’s the best and truest-hearted fellow in the world,” cried Artingale, enthusiastically.
“And if you had had a sister, what then, sir?”