"I've told you why, dear. It's my little girl's birthday to-morrow."
She remembered.
"Her birthday. How old will she be to-morrow?"
"Seven."
"Seven. What does she do all day long?"
"Oh, she amuses herself. We have a garden."
"How she would love this garden, and the flowers, and the swing, and the chickens, and all the animals, wouldn't she?"
"Yes. Yes."
Somehow he didn't like Maggie to talk about his child, but he hadn't the heart to stop her.
"Is she as pretty as she was?"