"Don't," she sobbed. "It's doing me good,"
However, Aubrey took her in his arms and tried to pet her, and that did her as much good as anything, although she went on crying.
"Can't give me yours—you silly! They won't be given. They don't want me to love you, they hate me, and your mother kissed me—she did—on my mouth."
"Mother is very fond of you, darling. She is really," Aubrey whispered as quickly as he could. "She said you were perfect, and father agreed with her, and said you would be all that a girl could be, if—if—"
"Go on," murmured Boodles. "It won't hurt. I've got hold of you. I'm taking all the starch out of your collar."
"Never mind what he said."
"We don't say good-bye until you have told me. I'll hang on to you. Stop you, perhaps. Oh, Aubrey, you are going away—that's why I'm crying. Your father said I should be a nice little girl, if—go on."
"If you had a name," said Aubrey, with an effort.
Boodles let him go and stepped back. She looked rather nice, with her eyes in the rain, and her head in the sunshine.
"What does that mean, Aubrey?" she said, almost fiercely.