“Would you like to come in here with me?” Annie suggested from her bed.
The child pushed back her hair with her little hands, and after waiting to realise the situation to the limit of her small experience, she said, with a smile that showed her pretty teeth, “Yes.”
“Then come.”
Idella tumbled out of bed, pulling up the nightgown, which was too long for her, and softly thumped across the carpet. Annie leaned over and lifted her up, and pressed the little face to her own, and felt the play of the quick, light breath over her cheek.
“Would you like to stay with me—live with me—Idella?” she asked.
The child turned her face away, and hid a roguish smile in the pillow. “I don't know.”
“Would you like to be my little girl?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because—because”—she seemed to search her mind—“because your night-gowns are too long.”