he saw
Sabina, and looked at her with observant eyes.

"This isn't your way, you know," he said, facing her gravely. "This
passage leads to my room, and Enid's room, not to the kitchens; and you
belong to the kitchens, don't you?"

Sabina stopped and eyed him strangely. She looked at his delicate
sharp-featured little face, at his fair hair and blue eyes, at the
dainty neatness of his apparel, and the costly toy which he held in his
hands. Her own bold eyes softened as she looked. She half knelt down and
held out her arms.

"Will you kiss me once, dearie, before I go away?"

Dick looked at her wonderingly. Then he came and put his little arms
around her neck and kissed her once, twice, thrice.

"Don't cry," he said; "I didn't know you were so nice and kind. But, you
see, I've only seen you in the shop."

"You won't see me in the shop any more. I'm going away," said Sabina,
utterly forgetful of her promise to Mrs. Vane.

"Are you?" said Dick. "Oh, then, won't there be any more sweeties in
your windows? Or will some one else sell them?"

"Some one else, I expect. That's all that children care for!" cried
Sabina, springing to her feet. "He's got no heart!"

Turning her face suddenly, she saw that there had been a spectator of
the little scene--a spectator at the sight of whom Sabina Meldreth
turned deadly white. Miss Vane stood at the nursery door. She had been
sitting there, and had heard Sabina's words and poor little Dick's
innocent reply.

"You are wrong," she said gravely, with her eyes intent on Sabina's pale
distorted face. "He has a heart--he is very loving and gentle. But you
cannot expect him to love you when he does not know you. If ever he knew
you better, he would--perhaps--love you more."

This speech, uttered quite gently and even pitifully, had a curious
effect upon Sabina. She burst into tears, and turned away, hiding her
face and sobbing as she went.

Enid stood for a moment in the doorway, holding the door-post by one
hand, and sadly watching the retreating figure until it disappeared.
Then Dick pulled at her dress.

"Cousin Enid, why does that woman cry? And why did she want to kiss me?
Was she angry or sorry, or what?"

"Sorry, I think, dear," said Enid, as she went back to her seat.

She drew Dick upon her knee and caressed him tenderly for a few moments;
but Dick felt, to his surprise, that the kisses she bestowed on him were
mingled with tears.

"Cousin Enid, why do you cry too?