“Don’t be angry with poor papa,” she said, almost beseechingly.
“No, no,” Archie cried, hardly knowing what he did say. “What is your name?”
“Etheldene.”
“What a beautiful name! I—I will never forget it. Good-bye.”
He ran home with the image of the child in his mind—on his brain.
Sarah—plain Sarah—met him at the top of the stairs. He brushed past her.
“La! but ye does look glum,” said Sarah.
Archie locked his door. He did not want to see even Sarah—homely Sarah—that night.