Rose got up and came to him, lifting a frightened, pleading face.
"Oh, George," she said, "don't make me send them away. Let me keep them."
"I suppose you must keep them if you want them."
"I never said I wanted them. Aunt would bring them. She thought they'd be something to occupy my mind, like."
Tanqueray smiled, in spite of his gentleness, at the absurd idea of Rose having a mind.
Rose made a little sound in her throat like a laugh. She had not laughed, she had hardly smiled, for many months now.
"The doctor—'e's fair pleased. 'E says I'll 'ave to go out walkin' now, for Joey's sake."
"Poor Joey."
He stooped and stroked the little animal, who stood on ridiculous hind-legs, straining to lick his hand.
"His hair doesn't come on, Rose——"