“I thought you might have been angry with Papa for leaving us for so long,” she said with an air of great wisdom. “I was, but I forgave him at once.” I smiled.
“You see,” she went on, “I couldn’t bear him to be unhappy, for I love him.”
“I know, darling.”
“And you love him, too?”
“Of course.”
She heaved an immense sigh.
“Then we are all happy.”
“We are all happy,” I echoed.
A minute later she was at the door, wafting me a gay little kiss. I had not been able to keep her. She was not more than ten years old at that time, but even then she was already the complete elusive creature of swift fleeting moods and superlatively lucid mind that she is today.