Faith would have liked to have her face out of sight, but she couldn't, conveniently.
"I am thinking, how I shall do it—and how you will not like it."
"You don't know"—said Mr. Linden. "Let me tell you how I shall like it. I shall read it, and love it, and answer it—will that satisfy you? or do you want me to hang it round my neck by a blue ribband?—because if you do, I will."
The laughing flash of Faith's eye contained nevertheless a protest.
"No, you will not like it, because it will not be fit for you to like; but you will have patience with it,"—she said with a smile which did in its loveliness bid good-bye to shadows.
Mr. Linden left the table, and standing before her as she had risen too, took her face softly in both hands and raised it up for his inspection.
"Do you know what a naughty child you are?"
A most quaint little "yes."
"Then why don't you behave better?" he said, enforcing his question but not releasing her.
"I suppose you will teach me, in time"—she said, blushing and sparkling under his hands. He seemed to like to study her face—or was thinking that he should not see it again for some time,—the expression on his own belonged to more than one thing.