I had one child, a boy, and would have no more; and I
squeezed the orange! But I didn't go at thirty, and yet the orange was
dry. My boy died; and you see what I am--a fright, I know it; and I dress
like a child of twenty; and I can't help it."
There had been moments, once, when Hylda, too, had wished to squeeze the
orange dry, but something behind, calling to her, had held her back. She
had dropped her anchor in perilous seas, but it had never dragged.
"Tell me how to make friends--and keep them," she added gaily.
"If it be true I make friends, thee taught me how," he answered, "for
thee made me a friend, and I forget not the lesson."
She smiled. "Thee has learnt another lesson too well," she answered
brightly. "Thee must not flatter. It is not that which makes thee keep
friends. Thee sees I also am speaking as they do in Hamley--am I not
bold? I love the grammarless speech."
"Then use it freely to-day, for this is farewell," he answered, not
looking at her.
"This--is--farewell," she said slowly, vaguely. Why should it startle her
so? "You are going so soon--where?"
"To-morrow to London, next week to Egypt.
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