“Oh, there’s another lover, is there?”
“Lots of ’em.”
David laughed and looked at Christie as if inviting her to be amused with the freaks and prattle of a child. But Christie sewed away without a sign of interest.
“That won’t do, Kitty: you are too young for much of such nonsense. I shall keep you here a while, and see if we can’t settle matters both wisely and pleasantly,” he said, shaking his head as sagely as a grandfather.
“I’m sure I wish you would: I love to stay here, you are always so good to me. I’m in no hurry to be married; and you won’t make me: will you?”
Kitty rose as she spoke, and stood before him with a beseeching little gesture, and a confiding air quite captivating to behold.
Christie was suddenly seized with a strong desire to shake the girl and call her an “artful little hussy,” but crushed this unaccountable impulse, and hemmed a pocket-handkerchief with reckless rapidity, while she stole covert glances at the tableau by the fire.
David put his finger under Kitty’s round chin, and lifting her face looked into it, trying to discover if she really cared for this suitor who seemed so providentially provided for her. Kitty smiled and blushed, and dimpled under that grave look so prettily that it soon changed, and David let her go, saying indulgently:
“You shall not be troubled, for you are only a child after all. Let the lovers go, and stay and play with me, for I’ve been rather lonely lately.”
“That’s a reproach for me,” thought Christie, longing to cry out: “No, no; send the girl away and let me be all in all to you.” But she only turned up the lamp and pretended to be looking for a spool, while her heart ached and her eyes were too dim for seeing.