Free The Determined Bachelor by Judith Harkness Page B

moment been so torn herself between a desire to comfort the little girl and a wish to preserve her brave dignity by pretending nothing was amiss, she would have rushed to fold her in her arms and tell her so. But the sight of this tiny little woman (for Nicole, despite all her mussed curls and air of a disbanded gypsy girl still possesseda maturity in her manner and in her thoughts which quite overwhelmed her governess) struggling to collect her emotions and to present a brave front made her pause. From the first moment of their meeting, Nicole had displayed such a markedly independent nature, so little tendency to exhibit any grief over her misfortunes, or even to speak about them, that Anne was loathe to be the first to break the silence. True, the word papa had not cropped up infrequently—chiefly as introduction to some little proverb or piece of wisdom which that gentleman had apparently had in no small supply. “Papa” was forever being held up as the ultimate judge of any issue, and whether it was a question of which frock to don in the morning or which fork to use for the fish course, his preferences were always invoked. But as to any real reference to him, either to his history or his character, there had been none. Indeed, so reticent had Nicole seemed upon this subject that Anne was more and more mystified. It struck her that any recently bereaved child would speak openly of her lost parent, if only in an effort to assuage her grief. It was evident from all her references to him that Nicole had nearly idolized her father. Why, then, would she not talk more freely about him? Very gently, Anne bid the child to come sit beside her, and taking one small hand in her own, she asked if Nicole would not tell her a little about him.
    Nicole received these solicitations with a solemn expression, and after wrinkling up her brow for a moment, in concentration, she nodded gravely.
    â€œPapa,” she said slowly, “was the best man in all the world. He knew everything, and taught me all he could. It was the great ambition of his life that I should be a great lady, and so he was not sorry when he died, but told me it was a gift from Heaven, for I should be brought up as Sir Basil’s ward, and my guardian could do a great deal more for me than he could do himself.”
    â€œBut did you have no friends?” inquired Anne, rather surprised by this little speech. “Do not you miss your old home, and all your old ways of life?”
    Now it was Nicole’s turn to look puzzled. “Why,” she replied, “I miss Papa! I miss Papa sometimes most dreadfully. He was my friend, and I his.” And with these words, the child gave a heaving shudder and burst into a flood of tears. Without much coaxing, Anne persuaded her to be embraced, and for some minutes the little girl shook and wept as if the end of the world had come. Anne was more pleased thansorry by this display, for it struck her as more natural than never shedding a tear, with all the fright and worry and sheer unhappiness which must have been her lot in the past weeks. And so, with much stroking and murmuring, she held the child tightly against her bosom and waited for the flood to subside of itself. This did not occur for some little while, and when it did, Nicole drew herself away and, clutching her hands in her lap, gave one last sob.
    â€œI shall not do that again,” she said, almost as if in stern warning to herself.
    â€œWhy!” cried Anne, amazed, “why ever not? I am very glad you did, indeed! And very pleased you should have selected me to comfort you.”
    Nicole gave her an uncertain smile. “You are not angry with me then?”
    â€œAngry! Why on earth should I be angry?”
    â€œPapa always said that no one much likes people who cry.”
    â€œNonsense,” retorted Anne, beginning to be irked with this famous papa, who had so much facile wisdom at his command but seemed more and more to