He would go upstairs and tell her
through the door just what he thought of her.
His way upstairs led through the kitchen. To his astonishment, there
sat Christina, asleep before the burnt-out grate.
"Upon my word," muttered Nicholas to himself, "people in this house
don't seem to know what beds are for!"
But it was not Christina, so Nicholas told himself. Christina had the
look of a frightened rabbit: it had always irritated him. This girl,
even in her sleep, wore an impertinent expression--a delightfully
impertinent expression. Besides, this girl was pretty--marvellously
pretty. Indeed, so pretty a girl Nicholas had never seen in all his
life before. Why had the girls, when Nicholas was young, been so
entirely different! A sudden bitterness seized Nicholas: it was as
though he had just learnt that long ago, without knowing it, he had
been robbed.
The child must be cold. Nicholas fetched his fur-lined cloak and
wrapped it about her.
There was something else he ought to do. The idea came to him while
drawing the cloak around her shoulders, very gently, not to disturb
her--something he wanted to do, if only he could think what it was.
The girl's lips were parted. She appeared to be speaking to him,
asking him to do this thing--or telling him not to do it.
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