“Nicht wahr?” said the boy, with flashing eyes. “I know how he looks, just. I am waiting till I am grown up, that I may go to him again.”
“Do you like me, Sigmund?”
“Yes; very much.”
“Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me to love those you love?”
“Do you mean him?” he asked point-blank, and looked at me somewhat startled.
“Yes.”
“I—don’t—know.”
“I mean, to take care of him, and try to make him happy till you come to him again, and then we will all be together.”
He looked doubtful still.
“What I mean, Sigmund, is that your father and I are going to be married; but we shall never be quite happy until you are with us.”