By the light of those words, Golden answered her own question. With a tearless sob she turned her eyes away from the too dear face of the false one.
But though she would not look at him, she could not help hearing his voice as he answered little Ruby's voluble chatter.
Presently the child showed him her great, wax doll, and when he had admired it sufficiently to please her, she said with an air of mystery:
"You could not guess dollie's name if you tried all day, Uncle Bertie."
"It is something high-flown, no doubt," he laughed. "It is Queen Victoria, or Princess Louise, or something like that."
"You are quite wrong," she replied, with sparkling eyes.
"Am I? Well, I have it now. You have called her Mary Smith, after your old-maid nurse."
"No, I have not," said the little one, merrily. "I have called her Golden—Golden Chesleigh."
In the next breath she added, quickly:
"Oh, Uncle Bert, what made you start just as if someone had shot you?"