Marcus turned in answer to the interrogation and beheld a small girl of four or five, standing, beaming at him, the very quintessence of willingness and loving-kindness. “We-ell?” she repeated.
There are those in life who carry the mackintoshes of others; who leave the last fresh egg for others; the early peas for others; the first asparagus for others; who look up trains for others; find servants for others; houses for others; who cry with others; who laugh with others. They are as a rule spinsters who do these things and they do them gladly—even the crying. Yes! Shan’t-if-I-don’t-want-to, Shan’t for short, was a spinster, and Marcus recognized her as one of those born to do things for others. She could laugh and cry at the same time, run faster than any child of her age to do your bidding. She could soothe your pain with her smile: and touch your heart with her laugh. These things Marcus did not as yet know. But he was glad directly he saw her that she was not a dog, and he grudged her neither the milk, nor the bun, nor the banana, nor the distracting of Mrs. Oven from the cooking of his dinner, which said much for the fascination of Shan’t.
There she stood longing to do things, aching, benevolence beaming from her eyes. “Well?” she repeated.
“Good gracious!” said Marcus, and he got up and stood looking down with amazement on this small person, who stood so willingly waiting. Suddenly she looked at his feet and like a flash she was gone.
“Who in the world is it, Diana?” he asked sternly, but his heart had become as water, and his bones like wax. Here was the child of his dreams, the child he had played Hide-and-Seek with, told his longest stories to, taken to the Zoo, saved from drowning.
“That’s Shan’t-if-I-don’t-want-to! That’s one of her names, but she always does want to. She’s the jolliest little beggar in the world. Mummy says I can’t have her for my own, but she is my own and I am hers. Here she is. She is bound to have fetched something for you. For Heaven’s sake, say ‘Thank you.’”
She had fetched his slippers. Now Marcus Maitland would rather go without breakfast than breakfast in slippers, but he said, “Tha-ank you.”
“Now,” said Diana, “if by chance I ruffled your hair she’d be off for your hair-brushes before you knew where you were.”
“I don’t know where I am, as it is,” said Marcus, edging away from the devastating hands of Diana. He loathed his hair ruffled.
“Put on your slippers,” said Shan’t, pointing to his feet.