hat's why I notice when I'm not loved. Oh, _do_ take me up.
Take me up to-day! I'm all alone in the world. My 'persons' have gone to
the Derby, and are staying all night at Epsom with a fat, rich family.
I'm left to the mercy of the landlady in our lodgings. I'll even give up
the dress at Selfridge's to go with you. That's more than sacrificing a
toe!"

But he had stopped laughing. Instead he had turned quite grave. "I
couldn't possibly do it," he said. "I'm awfully sorry to refuse. If you
were older, you'd understand that it wouldn't be the right thing for a
strange man and a 'foreigner,' to kidnap a little girl and fly off with
her into space. Supposing I had an accident? I'm sure I shouldn't--but
just supposing. I should never be able to forgive myself. Don't despair
though. If you can manage to introduce me as a respectable sort of chap
to your father, and he gives his permission----"

"But how did I get to know you?" I groaned. "I shall have to fib."

"No, you won't," he said quickly. "I refuse to be fibbed about. You must
think of some other way."

"I'm afraid," I said dolefully, "you agree with that hateful curiosity
man about me!"

"Agree with him? I don't understand."

"That I'm a pert minx or something. That's what he called me--or a pert
piece. It's all the same thing. And I am it. I don't mind telling fibs.
I've told lots."

"You poor little thing!" exclaimed Captain March in a pitying tone, but
with the kind of pity the proudest person wouldn't resent, because it
really came from his heart. "You seem to have had to fight your own
battles. Maybe your mother died when you were very young?"

"When I was a week young," I said, and suddenly I felt myself choked up.

"That explains the telling of fibs, you see, and saying you don't
mind--though I'm sure you do, when you stop to think of it; because the
sort of girl who can be a good pal to a man just can't tell fibs, any
more than the man can--if he's worth being a pal to."

Two boiling hot tears ran down my face, one on each cheek. I couldn't
answer. I only looked up at him, feeling all eyes.

"What a beast I am!" he exclaimed. "I've made you cry!"

"It's I who am the beast," I managed to gasp out, because I saw he was
badly distressed about me, and what he had done. "I'm crying because I'm
a little beast. But I'd like not to be."

"You're not. You're a little soldier. Will you forgive me? I didn't mean
to preach."

"You didn't preach. I expect