“Is Dick kind to you, Mary?”
“Kind,” she cried, looking up with a flashing eye and flushed face, while with one of her little hands she tossed back her luxuriant tresses. “Kind! Him be my father now. No have got nobody to love me now but him.”
“Yes, you have, Mary,” said March stoutly.
Mary looked at him in surprise, and said, “Who?”
“Me!” replied March.
Mary said nothing to this. It was quite clear that the Wild Man must have neglected her education sadly. She did not even smile; she merely shook her head, and gazed abstractedly at the embers of the fire.
“Dick is not your father, Mary,” continued March energetically, “but he has become your father. I am not your brother, but I’ll become your brother—if you’ll let me.”
March in his enthusiasm tried to raise himself; consequently he fell back and drowned Mary’s answer in a groan of anguish. But he was not to be baulked.
“What said you?” he inquired after a moment’s pause.
“Me say you be very good.”