Her passion and her complete indecision almost made her ill.
At last she slid to her father's side.
'Daddie--' she said.
'What, my precious?'
But she hung back, the tears almost coming to her eyes, in her
sensitive confusion. Her father looked at her, and his heart ran hot
with tenderness, an anguish of poignant love.
'What do you want to say to me, my love?'
'Daddie--!' her eyes smiled laconically--'isn't it silly if I give Miss
Brangwen some flowers when she comes?'
The sick man looked at the bright, knowing eyes of his child, and his
heart burned with love.
'No, darling, that's not silly. It's what they do to queens.'
This was not very reassuring to Winifred. She half suspected that
queens in themselves were a silliness. Yet she so wanted her little
romantic occasion.
'Shall I then?' she asked.
'Give Miss Brangwen some flowers? Do, Birdie. Tell Wilson I say you are
to have what you want.'
The child smiled a small, subtle, unconscious smile to herself, in
anticipation of her way.
Pages:
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581