"As you do."
"What makes you think I am working 'so hard,' little Mignonette?—have
I given you that impression? I did not mean it. Do I look overworked?"
"No—" said Faith—"I think not,—but that is not the thing. Why do you, Endecott?"
It was a very gently put question, but put with eyes and lips as well as the sweet voice, dainty in its half timidity mixed with the sweetness. Mr. Linden looked down at her till the question was finished, but then he looked off at the dancing water; the smile which had been dawning upon his lips breaking out into very full sunshine. It was a strange smile—very enjoying and yet a little moved.
"Mignonette," he said looking down at her again, "do you know what a dear little child you are?"
Her eyes wavered, then faced him again with a sort of smiling gravity, as not relinquishing their answer.
"You will be dreadfully shocked if I tell you."
"Shall I?"—she said, not believing him.
"Yes. But what do you suppose I am doing?—what has put all this into your head?"
"I heard it," said Faith.