‘My darling, you have come to bid me welcome home?’
‘Yes, mamma.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘Papa. Kiss me again, please. Papa says if I am good you are sure to love me.’
He held up his rosy lips and she kissed them again and again; then she caught him up in her arms and carried him to her dressing-room. She turned over the things in her unpacked boxes and produced some toys—these she gave to the child, embracing him the while.
‘Do you know why I brought these, dear?’
‘No, mamma, unless because, as papa says, you are so good.’
‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘it is because I love you, and I want you to love me.’
Late that night Madeline came quietly down from her room and entered the library. Forster was still there; he was smoking a cigar, and looking through a batch of letters which had accumulated during his absence.
‘Why, Madeline, can’t you sleep?’ he asked, as she came forward.