You're a beautiful girl, my
dear--you're the pick of my bevy. But I must bring back the roses to those
cheeks--Mildred Grant, eh? Jack Etherington used to call you that: he was
a great rose-fancier--old Jack. Do you remember our tea-party last summer?
And how happy we were? Let's be happy again, my lamb! Come, my child,
can't you squeeze me out one little smile? You'll make the sun shine in
this foggy old den of mine." He pinched her cheek, peered for the dimple
which a smile must bring; then he drew her closer to him and whispered his
darling thought: "Shall I tell you something, Sancie? What your old dad
prays for when he's by himself? I want another grandchild, my dear--one I
can spoil. I ought to be a happy man with what I've got--I know that. But
you were always the pet, my love; you know you were--until, until--ah,
Sancie! And one of yours! Aren't you going to indulge your old father?
He's only got a few years left, mind you. Don't want any more. To see his
darling happy, smiling down on her baby--bless me, I'm getting foolish."
He blinked his bravest, but had to wipe his glasses. She rewarded him with
a kiss, and did not leave till she could leave him at ease.
X
Sanchia, after many nights' stony vigil, decided that she must fight her
beasts by herself.
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