Without a word she took off her gloves, sat down at the piano and sung in low tones of melting tenderness. When the last note died away, he rose quietly, came to her side, and took her hand.
"I never knew, little girl, how my life has grown into yours until I'm about to lose you."
"But you're not going to lose me. Remember I'm coming back to sing for you before thousands. And I'm going to make you proud of me."
"I couldn't know how deeply and tenderly I love you, child, until this moment when I'm about to say goodbye."
The little figure was very still. Her eyes drooped and her lips trembled pathetically. She knew that he had said too much to mean a great deal. He had spoken of his love for her as a "child," when long ago the child had grown into the tragic figure of a woman who had learned to wait and suffer in silence.
She tried to speak and her voice failed. Her hand began to tremble in his.
She turned and faced him with a smile, pressing his hand. The cab was at the door and her father calling from below.
"Goodbye, Jim," she said tenderly.
"Goodbye to the dearest little chum God ever sent to cheer a lonely unhappy man's soul."
A sob stilled his voice and she turned her face away to hide her tears.