"So you are glad to have me back, Carlotta?" I asked, as we were
driving home.
She sidled up against me in her terrier fashion.
"Oh, ye-es," she cooed. "The day was night without you."
"That is the oriental language of exaggeration," I said. But all
the same it was pleasant to hear, and the soft notes of her voice
coiled themselves, as music sometimes dus, around my heart.
"I love dear Seer Marcous," she said.
I put my arm round her waist for a moment, as one would do to a
child.
"You are a good little girl, Carlotta. That is to say," I added,
remembering my responsibilities, "if you _have_ been good. Have
you?"
"Oh, so good. Antoinette has been teaching me how to cook, and I
can make a rice pudding. It is so nice to cook things. I like
the smell. But I burned myself. See."
She pulled off her glove and showed me a red mark on her hand. I
kissed it to make it well, and she laughed and was very happy.
And I, too, was happy. Something new and fresh and bright has
come into my life.
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