Hope faced about and smiled with a mischievous triumph. She had had at least this moment from her mother’s precept. Her father placed her firmly on her feet.
“This is my youngest,” Mrs. Daindrie explained to David. “I believe you have never seen her. Hope dear, don’t you want to say good evening to Mr. Markand?”
“Why am I so little surprised?” said David to himself. What was there growingly strange in this quiet night? “Does she remember me?” He felt the hollowness of nervous strain, as the little girl of the car came up to him, held out her hand.
“I know you already,” she announced quite clear and high.
“Oh, do you?” said Mrs. Daindrie.
“I know you also,” David spoke to Hope.
Their words caused no great interest. Doubtless, on one of the occasions when he had been there before they had met. In the lack of concern the two felt protection.
She took his hand, he looked into her eyes.
They were not quite so dimpled.
She tossed her head and withdrew her hand and left him.