"I've never had the wish to be other than good," he replied lovingly.
As soon as she was alone, Dorothy removed her hat, and then, as she stood by the hearth, watching the leaping flames, smoothed out her curls.
So engaged, and lost in thought, she did not hear the tapping upon the door, nor see that it opened softly and a man's figure paused on the threshold, as if watching the slight form standing by the fire, with the back turned squarely to him.
"Little one," came in a voice that startled the silence.
She turned like a flash, and although the firelight did not touch his face, it was not needed to tell her who it was.
He closed the door, and advanced with outstretched arms, laughing with exultation when she fled to them.
"You are still of the same mind as when we parted?" he said, while he held her as if never meaning to let her go from him again.
"How can you ask?" And she nestled yet closer to him.
His only answer was to kiss her. Then, bringing a chair to the hearth, he seated himself, and attempted to draw her upon his knee. But she frustrated this by perching herself upon the arm of the chair, from which she looked triumphantly into his face.
"Your hands are cold, little one," he said, holding them against his cheek.