"I am going so early in the morning," he said, "will you give me just one little minute now?"
In that minute he told her that he loved her.
And Cissy, standing in the library in all the disorder of uncurled locks and gray kimono, demanded, after a rapturous pause, "But why didn't you tell me before?"
He found it hard to explain. "I didn't quite realize it—until I saw you there so tender and sweet, with the baby in your arms—"
"A Madonna-creature," murmured Cissy Beale.
But he did not understand. "It isn't because I want you to sit in a chimney-corner—it wasn't fair of you to say that—"
Then in just one short speech Cissy Beale showed him her heart. She told of the years of devotion, always unrewarded by the affection she craved. "And here was the baby," she finished, "to grow up—and find somebody else, and forget me—"
As he gathered her into his protecting embrace, his big laugh comforted her.
"I'm yours till the end of the world, little grandmother," he whispered. "I shall never find any one else—and I shall never forget."