“But won’t Harriet be—be—angry?” said the little fellow, his lips quivering.
“You leave the matter to me,” said Patience. She looked strong and determined. “Your father would wish it,” she said; and at these words and at the cool feel of her hand, Ralph yielded to his own inclinations and left the room with her.
When they got upstairs, however, he asked her once or twice rather piteously if she thought Harriet would mind.
“I will see that she doesn’t,” said Patience. “You leave it to me, Ralph.”
“Oh but,” said Ralph, as he got into his little pyjamas, “she has been so awfully brave, you know—saved my life, you know.”
“Yes, I know all that,” said Patience, “and I know of course that you are very grateful to her; but I do wonder something, Ralph.”
“What is that?” asked the child.
“If you understand the difference between very grateful to a person and loving a person very dearly?” Ralph looked immensely puzzled.
“I mean this,” said Patience, wondering at her own audacity. “You say that Harriet saved your life.”
“Yes,” said Ralph, with great determination. “Her did.”