"If I ask you something possible, what will you do?" she said, softly touching the side of his head with her hand. It was Faith's utmost freedom; a sort of gentle admiring touch of her fingers which the thick locks of hair felt hardly more than a spider's feet.
"That depends so much upon the thing!" he said, half turning to give her the look which belonged to his words. "There are such a variety of ways in which I might deal with it—and with you."
"I am not going to ask you anything but what would be right."
"You do not doubt that my answer will be conformable?"
"Yes I do. It will be your 'right,' but it may not be my 'right,' you know."
"If you get what is not your right, you ought to be contented," said
Mr. Linden.
"Now you have turned me and my meaning round! Endecott—you know Aunt
Dilly gave me something?—mayn't I—won't you let me lend it to you?"
Very low and doubtfully the words came out! But if Faith had any more to say, she had little chance for a while. One quick look round at her Mr. Linden gave, but then he sprang up and came to where she stood, lifting her face and giving her her "right" in one sense at least. Other answer he made none.
"Endy—have I asked a possible thing this time?" she said under breath.
"My precious child!—Do you think it possible?"