As I wander to and fro.”
“Be quiet, dear. Norman does not feel well,” the mother said, gently.
Sweetheart ran to his knee, and stood very quietly, peering up into his face with her large, wondering blue eyes.
“Sweet’art sorry oo sick,” she said, cooingly, wistfully; and with a sigh he lifted her up in his arms.
“Poor little angel! I wonder if you will ever grow up to be cruel, false, and wicked as some of your sex?” he muttered.
“No,” she replied, shaking her bright little head intelligently, as if she understood every word. Then she slid down from his lap, and ran to chase her little spotted kitten around the room.
Norman forgot her in an instant, and returned to his wretched thoughts.
Presently there was a light but decided tap upon the door.
Mrs. de Vere colored with surprise and displeasure when she met the impudent, leering gaze of the discharged French maid.
“Nance told me I sall find m’sieur with you,” she said, her keen, serpent-like eyes peering past Mrs. de Vere into the room. She scowled at Sweetheart and the kitten, then pushed past Mrs. de Vere and went up to her son.