Thank you, but I don't want you.' Some small voice, near his ear, would ask him how he was, perhaps.
'I am very well, I thank you,' he would answer.

'But you had better go and play, if you please.' Then he would turn his head, and watch the child away, and say to Florence, 'We don't want any others, do we?
Kiss me, Floy.' He had even a dislike, at such times, to the company of Wickam, and was well pleased when she strolled away, as she generally did, to pick up shells and acquaintances.

His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers; and with Florence sitting by his side at work, or reading to him, or talking to him, and the wind blowing on his face, and the water coming up among the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.
'Floy,' he said one day, 'where's India, where that boy's friends live ?' 'Oh, it's a long, long distance off,' said Florence, raising her eyes from her work.
'Weeks off ?' asked Paul.
'Yes dear.

Many weeks' journey, night and day.' 'If you were in India, Floy,' said Paul, after being silent for a minute, 'I should--what is it that Mama did?
I forget.' 'Loved me!' answered Florence.
'No, no.

Don't I love you now, Floy?
What is it ?--Died.