“Hush, hush! what next?” said Millicent smiling, as she laid her hand upon the child’s lips. “Of course, of course.”
Julie caught the hand in hers, kissed it, and held it fast.
“Why does not Mr Bayle love some one?”
A curious, fixed look came over Millicent’s face, and she gazed down at her babbling child in a half-frightened way.
“He will some day,” she said at last.
“No, he won’t,” said the child, shaking her head and looking very wise.
“Why, what nonsense is this, Julie?”
“I asked him one day when we were sitting out in the woods, and he looked at me almost like papa does, and then he jumped up and laughed, and called me a little chatterer, and made me run till I was out of breath. But I asked him, though.”
“You asked him?”
“Yes; I asked him if he would marry a beautiful lady some day, as beautiful as you are, and he took me in his arms and kissed me, and said that he never should, because he had got a little girl to love—he meant me. And oh! here’s papa: let’s tell him. No, I don’t think I will. I don’t think he likes Mr Bayle.”