"Still, if she had been worthy of a father like that...."
"She was only seven, remember."
"Even so, but if she had not been a little selfish ... wasn't she a little selfish?"
"You mustn't abuse my friend Roma."
Her eyes beamed, her cheeks burned, her nerves tingled. It would be a sweet delight to egg him on, but she dare not go any farther.
"I beg your pardon," she said in a soft voice. "Of course you know best. And perhaps years afterward when she came to think of what her father had been to her ... that is to say if she lived..."
Their eyes met again, and now hers fell in confusion.
"I want to give you that portrait," he said.
"Me?"
"You would like to have it?"