Helena, hesitating in the hall, said she had only come to leave David.
But Dr. Lavendar would not listen to that.
"Sit down! Sit down!" he commanded genially.
David, entirely at home, squatted at once upon the rug beside Danny.
"Dr. Lavendar," she said, "you'll bring him back to me on Saturday?"
"Unless I steal him for myself," said Dr. Lavendar, twinkling at David, who twinkled back, cozily understanding.
Helena stooped over him and kissed him; then took one of his reluctant hands from its clasp about his knees and held it, patting it, and once furtively kissing it, "Good-by, David. Saturday you'll be at home again."
The child's face fell. His sigh was not personal; it only meant the temporariness of all human happiness. Staring into the fire in sudden melancholy, he said, "'By." But the next minute he sparkled into excited joy, and jumped up to hang about her neck and whisper that in Philadelphia he was going to buy a false-face for a present for Dr. Lavendar; "or else a jew's-harp. He'll give it to me afterwards; and I think I want a jew's-harp the most," he explained.
"David," Helena said in a whisper, putting her cheek down against his,
"Oh, David, won't you please, give me—'forty kisses'? I'm so—lonely."
David drew back and looked hard into her face that quivered in spite of the smile she had summoned to meet his eyes. It was a long look, for a child; then suddenly, he put both arms around her neck in a breathless squeeze. "One—two—three—four—" he began.
William King, coming in for his evening smoke, saw that quick embrace; his face moved with pain, and he stepped back into the hall with some word of excuse about his coat. When he returned, she was standing up, hurrying to get away. "Saturday," she repeated to Dr. Lavendar; "Saturday, surely?"
"Why," the old man said smiling, "you make me feel like a thief. Yes; you shall have him Saturday night. Willy, my boy, do you think Mrs. Richie ought to go up the hill alone?"