"Her work must keep her away from home a great deal," he ventured, after a pause.
"Yes. I seldom see her."
"You must be lonely."
She turned her dark eyes to his. "I live in a hotel," she said.
In the simple answer, Allison saw an unmeasured loneliness, coupled with a certain loyalty to her mother. He changed the subject.
"You like it here, don't you?"
"Yes, indeed. Aunt Francesca is lovely and so is Cousin Rose. I wish," she went on, with a little sigh as she glanced about the comfortable room, "that I could always stay here." The child-like appeal in her tone set Allison's heart to beating a little faster.
"I wish you could," he said. Remorsefully, he remembered the long hours he had spent with Rose at the piano, happily oblivious of Isabel.
"Are you fond of music?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed! I always sit outside and listen when you and Cousin Rose play."
"Come in whenever you want to," he responded, warmly.
"Won't I be in the way? Won't I be a bother?"
"I should say not. How could you be?"
"Then," Isabel smiled, "I'll come sometimes, if I may. It's the only pleasure I have."
"That's too bad. Sometime we'll go into town to the theatre, just you and I. Would you like to go?"
"I'd love to," she answered, eagerly.
The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled merrily upon the hearth, and the wind howled outside. In the quiet room, Allison sat and studied Isabel, with the firelight shining upon her face and her white gown. She seemed much younger than her years.
"You're only a child," he said, aloud; "a little, helpless child."
"How long do you think it will be before I'm grown up?"
"I don't want you to grow up. I can remember now just how you looked the day I told you about the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with black buttons, and the most fetching white sunbonnet. Your hair was falling in curls all round your face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung to your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to me and said: 'Allison, please fix my's turls.' Don't you remember?"
She smiled and said she had forgotten. "But," she added, truthfully, "I've often wondered how I looked when I was dressed up."
"Then," he continued, "I told you how the scent bottles grew on the roots of the rose bushes, and, after I went home, you went and pulled up as many as you could. Aunt Francesca was very angry with me."