“’Course,” said Ralph again. He concealed nothing, denied nothing. He looked full now into Harriet’s face.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
“You said you hated Robina and me; then you said afterwards that you did not hate me—you loved me, but you hated Robina. I want you to love us both. By the time Robina comes back, I want you to be a-loving of her as hard as you’re a-loving of me.”
“Well, I can’t do that,” said Harriet, “so there is no use wishing it.”
Ralph sighed. “She is very, very good,” he said. “Ralph,” said Harriet, suddenly; “there are some things I cannot bear.”
“What?” asked the little boy.
“I love you, and I can’t bear you to be fondest of Robina.”
“Very sorry,” said Ralph, shaking his curly head.
“Don’t you think,” said Harriet, drawing him close to her and fondling his chubby hand, “that you could manage to love me best? I want your love more than Robina does.”
“Sorry,” said Ralph again.