“To his shop!”
She nodded reassuringly. “His fruit-shop—and—oh, I forgot—” She reached into the little bag at her side, tugging at something. “He gave me these.” She produced the round box and took off the lid, looking into it with pleased eyes. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
The mother bent blindly to it. “Pomegranates,” she said. Her lips were still a little white, but they smiled bravely with the child’s pleasure.
“Pomegranates,” said Betty, nodding. “That is what he called them. I should like to taste one—” She was looking at them a little wistfully.
“We will have them for luncheon,” said the mother. She had touched the bell with quick decision.
“Marie”—she held out the box—“tell Nesmer to serve these with luncheon.”
“Am I to have luncheon with you, mother-dear?” The child’s eyes were on her mother’s face.
“With me—yes.” The reply was prompt—if a little tremulous.
The child sighed happily. “It is being a marvellous day,” she said, quaintly.
The mother smiled. “Come and get ready for luncheon, and then you shall tell me about the wonderful man.”