Then the animation would die out, and she sat apparently listening.
A sigh from the couch aroused her; and, crossing the room, she bent down to tenderly stroke the grey curls back from Mrs Glaire’s forehead before kissing her.
“Poor aunty,” she cooed; “she does want her tea so badly. Let me give you one—just one little cup.”
“No, Eve,” said Mrs Glaire; “I’ll wait till Richard comes.”
“Where can he be?” said Eve, anxiously. “How late he is.” Then seeing how her words had impressed her aunt, she hastened to add: “Don’t fidget, aunt dear; he’s only stopping to have a cigar. He’ll soon be here.”
“Eve, my child,” said Mrs Glaire, who had been brooding over a trouble other than that which had disturbed her during the day, “bring a stool and sit down by me.”
Eve hastened to obey, and, drawing the young girl’s head down to her breast, Mrs Glaire went on:
“My child, you must not think me strange; but I want to talk to you—about Richard.”
“Yes, aunt,” said Eve, whose voice suddenly turned husky, as her heart began to accelerate its motion.
“You love Dick, Eve?”