“Where is nurse?” asked Mr. Manning, advancing to the crib.
“Gone down-stairs, cross old thing,” said Virgie. “Have you brought your little girl a present, papa?”
“No,” said her father with a laugh. “I have brought a boy that wants to say good-by to you. He is going away. Do you know who it is?”
“’Course I do,” said Virgie, who was clearly in a bad temper; “it’s that cross boy Eugene. Is he going to his old remperor?”
Eugene felt as if he were suffocating. He had always fancied that he did not like this little American girl, that he only endured her; and he had considered it a great condescension on his part that he should include her in the childish stroke of diplomacy by which he proposed to make the way clear for a return to America. Now he saw that he had been mistaken. He loved the small child next to Mrs. Hardy and the sergeant, and her indifference cut him to the heart.
“Little one,” he said resentfully, as he stepped nearer, “you may never see me again.”
“Then Virgie will be glad,” said the child, pouting out her lips at him; “once you sweeped the ground with me.”
Mr. Manning was convulsed with amusement at the calmly vindictive attitude of his youthful daughter, and waited attentively for Eugene’s next sentence.
“Shall I send you a present from France?” he asked at last.