"No, sir."
"Then it is sure that Mr. Fonda has become childish and his memory is gone," said I, "because if he comprehended your present situation and your necessity he would surely have sent for you long since."
"He always was kind," she said simply.
I lay on my pillows, sipping chocolate and watching her fingers so deft with thread and needle. After a long silence I asked her rather bluntly why she had not long ago consented to the necessary legal steps offered her by Mr. Fonda, which would have secured her always against want.
As she made me no answer, I looked hard at her over my bowl, and saw her eyes very faintly glimmering with tears.
"The news of Mr. Fonda's condition has greatly saddened you," said I.
"Yes. He was kind to me."
"Why, then, did you evade his expressed wishes?" I repeated. "He must surely have loved you like a father to offer you adoption."
"I could not accept," she said in a low voice, sewing rapidly the while.
"Why not?"