Mrs. Meade took off her spectacles and wiped the moisture of tears from them. She was deeply touched by Pansy’s affection for Pet, and, after a moment, she said significantly:
“Mrs. Falconer, I’m sorry to seem harsh and unkind, refusing to give you the child, but I know you will forget it directly. While, as for me, my heart is bound up in him, and I’ve always said that I’d never give up my claim, except to some one who had a better right to him than I have.”
Pansy glanced up, startled, and met the significant gaze of the kind old eyes. She understood.
With a burning blush, she put the little one out of her arms and rose to go.
“Then, of course, I can urge you no longer. Your claim is too strong,” she said, trying to speak coldly, as a mask for her bitter disappointment.
“As for not seeing Pet any more, Mrs. Falconer, if you care about it I can make it easy enough for you to see him. I take him to the Capitol Square every pleasant afternoon,” said Mrs. Meade; and then she asked eagerly; “Won’t you come in the parlor and play the piano for Pet? He loves music so dearly.”
“I ought to go this minute,” she said, but yielded to the tiny, persuasive little fingers that clasped hers, and stayed almost an hour longer, playing and singing for the delighted little one.
When she took leave she slipped a golden coin in the baby fingers.
“To buy candy,” she said, kissing him fondly, and promising to come to the Capitol Square the next afternoon to see him. Then she tore herself away, and Mrs. Meade had hard work to console Pet, who wept bitterly at the parting.