CHAPTER VIII
Whether she went driving in royal state under her white carriage robes, or watched from the nursery window the people passing below, or stood in her little night-dress on her brass bed before being tucked in, Jean was always adorable.
One day I took the Lad to see her.
He had already called at the house a number of times, but Jean had never been brought down to the parlour.
Perhaps he had never before been acquainted with a little child. I saw him watch every motion of her yellow head as she sat on the floor, looking solemnly at the people about her. Jean was a grave baby.
Presently she lifted her hand and very earnestly pointed one tiny finger at the Lad.
I had seen her do this many times. It was her usual way of expressing approval of a new acquaintance. But the Lad had never seen it, and to him it meant, “Thou art the man.”
He begged to be allowed to take her up. As he lifted her, his face flushed.
I did not tell him that she clung to him so closely, and refused so peremptorily to go to any one else, partly because his arms were so strong. Jean liked the grasp of firm muscles. To the Lad it seemed that her obstinacy was only love for him.
He would not go home. Sitting before the open fire, he gazed at the child on his knee, and ignored all my glances.