I went forward and Joey cried out and hurled himself into my arms. Haidee stood up and drew the lad to her with a nervous motion.
“Joey,” I said, “run away and see what Jingles is barking at so furiously. A fat rabbit has just escaped him.”
Joey bounded away shrieking with excitement. I studied Haidee deliberately as her eyes followed the childish figure. Her eyes were brooding and solemn and sweet as she watched, but there was a shadow on her brow.
“Too bad,” I said speaking out my thought, “for Joey’s mother to be jealous of me.”
“Do you think that of me?” she faltered.
“He is all yours—no one on the face of the earth has the slightest claim on him excepting yourself.”
Our eyes met; hers were startled yet defiant; and I am afraid mine were a trifle accusing.
“Do not speak to me like this—do not dare!” Then suddenly she softened. “But you are right—perhaps. When I think of the days and months you had him and I was bereft—when I think how much you mean to him—more than I mean—oh, it hurts! I am a wretch.”
“No, no,” I said hastily. “I did not understand, that is all.”
“You have not understood—and it has altered your manner to me, that is it, is it not? You have thought me weak, and selfish, and ungrateful. Well, I am not ungrateful; but I have been selfish. I have thought not enough of you and Joey. But now I have confessed, and I shall be more considerate.” Her hand came out to me. “Let us shake hands.” Tears were in her eyes.