"Come in whenever you want to," he responded, warmly.
"Won't I be in the way? Won't I be a bother?"
"I should say not. How could you be?"
"Then," Isabel smiled, "I'll come sometimes, if I may. It's the only pleasure I have."
"That's too bad. Sometime we'll go into town to the theatre, just you and I. Would you like to go?"
"I'd love to," she answered, eagerly.
The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled merrily upon the hearth, and the wind howled outside. In the quiet room, Allison sat and studied Isabel, with the firelight shining upon her face and her white gown. She seemed much younger than her years.
"You're only a child," he said, aloud; "a little, helpless child."
"How long do you think it will be before I'm grown up?"
"I don't want you to grow up. I can remember now just how you looked the day I told you about the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with black buttons, and the most fetching white sunbonnet. Your hair was falling in curls all round your face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung to your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to me and said: 'Allison, please fix my's turls.' Don't you remember?"