"But," I continued, "don't fret, and don't expect too much of him, or else
he will feel you to be troublesome, and then it is all over."
"All over!" she echoed softly; "then I'll be good. I'll try to be good, Lucy
Snowe."
I put her to bed.
"Will he forgive me this one time?" she asked, as I undressed myself. I
assured her that he would; that as yet he was by no means alienated; that
she had only to be careful for the future.
"There is no future," said she: "I am going. Shall I ever— ever— see him
again, after I leave England?"
I returned an encouraging response. The candle being extinguished, a still
half-hour elapsed. I thought her asleep, when the little white shape once
more lifted itself in the crib, and the small voice asked— "Do you like Gra-
ham, Miss Snowe?"
"Like him! Yes, a little."
"Only a little! Do you like him as I do?"
"I think not. No: not as you do."