'Say it, please.' But he reddened instantly.
'Lucy's—Lucy's—got a fancy for you,' she said tremulously, shrinking from her own words. 'Perhaps it's a shame to say it—oh, it may be! You haven't told me anything, and she's given me no leave. But she's had it a long time.'
'I don't know why you say so,' he replied half sombrely.
His flush had died away, but his hand shook on his knee.
'Oh, yes, you do,' she cried; 'you must know. Lucy can't keep even her own secrets. But she's got such a warm heart! I'm sure she has. If a man would take her and be kind to her, she'd make him happy.'
She stopped, looking at him intently.
Then suddenly she burst out, laying her hand on the arm of his chair—Daddy's chair:
'Don't be angry; you've been like a brother to me.'
He took her hand and pressed it, reassuring her.
'But how can I make her happy?' he said, with his head on his hand. 'I don't want to be a fool and deny what you say, for the sake of denying it. But—'