"She does not like the thought of leaving you." "I've spoilt her," said he, taking her from me with good humour, and kissing her little hot face and burning lips.

"Polly, you care for me more than for papa, now--" "I _do_ care for you, but you care nothing for me," was her whisper.
She was assured to the contrary, again kissed, restored to me, and I carried her away; but, alas! not soothed.
When I thought she could listen to me, I said--"Paulina, you should not grieve that Graham does not care for you so much as you care for him.
It must be so." Her lifted and questioning eyes asked why.
"Because he is a boy and you are a girl; he is sixteen and you are only six; his nature is strong and gay, and yours is otherwise." "But I love him so much; he _should_ love me a little." "He does.

He is fond of you.

You are his favourite." "Am I Graham's favourite ?" "Yes, more than any little child I know." The assurance soothed her; she smiled in her anguish.
"But," I continued, "don't fret, and don't expect too much of him, or else he will feel you to be troublesome, and then it is all over." "All over!" she echoed softly; "then I'll be good.

I'll try to be good, Lucy Snowe." I put her to bed.
"Will he forgive me this one time ?" she asked, as I undressed myself.