“How your mother would have loved you, would have been proud of you,” she said in a low tone. “Is—is there no one else to—to rejoice in you?” she asked shyly, but eagerly.
He laughed aloud. “There's dad, dear old dad.”
“And no one else?” Still with shy, eager eyes she held him.
“Oh, heaps,” he cried, still laughing.
She smiled upon him, a slightly uncertain smile, and yet as if his answer somehow satisfied her.
“Good-bye,” she said impulsively, offering her hand.
“But you are not going! You're staying a few days!” he gasped.
“No, we're going. We're going right away. Goodbye,” she said. “I don't want those others to see. Goodbye. Oh, it's been a wonderful morning! And,—and—a friend is a wonderful discovery.”
Her hand held his in a strong, warm grasp, but her eyes searched his face as if seeking something she greatly desired.
“Good-bye. I am sorry you are going,” he said, simply. “I want to know you better.”