“Oh, let her stay,” Robert said, laughing. “I'll keep her in my coat until it is warm.”
“I'm afraid she'll bother you,” said Fanny.
“Not a bit,” replied Robert.
“You are a naughty girl, Amabel,” said Fanny; but she went out of the room, with Andrew at her heels. She did not know what else to do, since the young man had expressed a desire to keep the child. She had thought he would have preferred a tête-à-tête with Ellen. Ellen sat down on the sofa covered with olive-green plush, beyond the table, and the light of the hideous lamp fell full upon her face. She was thin, and much of her lovely bloom was missing between her agitation and the cold; but Robert, looking at her, realized how dear she was to him. There was something about that small figure, and that fair head held with such firmness of pride, and that soul outlooking from steady blue eyes, which filled all his need of life. His love for the pearl quite ignored its setting of the common and the ridiculous. He looked at her and smiled. Ellen smiled back tremulously, then she cast down her eyes. The fire was roaring, but the room was freezing. The sitting-room door was opened a crack, and remained so for a second, then it was widened, and Andrew peeped in. Then he entered, tiptoeing gingerly, as if he were afraid of disturbing a meeting. He brought a blue knitted shawl, which he put over Ellen's shoulders.
“Mother thinks you had better keep this on till the room gets warm,” he whispered. Then he withdrew, shutting the door softly.
Robert, left alone with Ellen in this solemnly important fashion, felt utterly at a loss. He had never considered himself especially shy, but an embarrassment which was almost ridiculous was over him. Ellen sat with her eyes cast down. He felt that the child on his knee was regarding them both curiously.
“If you have come to see Ellen, why don't you speak to her?” demanded Amabel, suddenly. Then both Robert and Ellen laughed.
“This is your aunt's little girl, isn't she?” asked Robert.
Amabel answered before Ellen was able. “My mamma is sick, and they carried her away to the asylum,” she told Robert. “She—she tried to hurt Amabel; she tried to”—Amabel made that hideous gesture with her tiny forefinger across her throat. “Mamma was sick or she wouldn't,” she added, challengingly, to Robert.
“Of course she wouldn't, you poor little soul,” said Robert.