"Late—oh, so very, very late! I must be more careful of her, Phil; because, if you and I grow up, some day we may marry, and we ought to know all about children. It would be great fun, wouldn't it?"
He nodded, forcing a smile.
"Don't you think so?" she persisted.
"Yes—yes, indeed," he said gently.
She laughed, contented with his answer, and laid her lips against the painted face of the doll.
"When we grow up, years from now—then we'll understand, won't we, Phil? . . . I am tired with playing. . . . And Phil—let me whisper something. Is that person gone?"
He turned and signed to the nurse, who quietly withdrew.
"Is she gone?" repeated Alixe.
"Yes."
"Then listen, Phil. Do you know what she and the other one are about all day? I know; I pretend not to, but I know. They are watching me every moment—always watching me, because they want to make you believe that I am forgetting you. But I am not. That is why I made them send for you so I could tell you myself that I could never, never forget you. . . . I think of you always while I am playing—always—always I am thinking of you. You will believe it, won't you?"