“You needn't have,” I said. “He has forgotten you.”
“I don't think it nice of you to say that, Mr. Dominie.”
There was a little break in her voice. I looked away hastily. Though, if I had made her cry, it served her right. I looked back and found that she was not crying. She was laughing. At me!
“He has forgotten you,” I repeated positively, “as he ought.”
“Yes; I suppose he ought,” she assented dolorously. “But he hasn't,” she added with a sudden change to an adorable impertinence. “You know he hasn't. Nobody ever forgets me. You didn't forget me, did you? And you'd only seen me once.”
“Why am I seeing you now?”
“Because you're old and wise and you look kind.”
“I am very old and extremely wise,” I answered, “but my kindly expression is mere senile deterioration of the facial muscles. I am really brutal.”
“But you'll be kind to me,” she averred trustfully.
I surrendered. “What about?”