We have not been gifen children of our own." "Yet home is home," added her husband, with an expansive smile, "though it be not the Vaterland, Mees Korona--_hein ?_" He eyed the child quizzically, and turned to Nurse Branscome.

"She is badriotic so as you would nevar think-- "'Brit-ons nevar, nevar, nev-ar-will be Slavs!'" He intoned it ludicrously, casting out both hands and snapping his fingers to the tune.
The child Corona looked past him with a gaze that put aside these foolish antics, and fastened itself on Nurse Branscome.
"I think I shall like you," she said composedly and with the clearest English accent.

"But I do not quite know who you are.

Are you fetching me to Daddy ?" "Yes," said Nurse Branscome, and nodded.
She seldom or never wasted words.

Nods made up a good part of her conversation always.
Corona stood up, by this action conveying to the grown-ups--for she, too, economised speech--that she was ready to go, and at once.
Youth is selfish, even in the sweetest-born of natures.
Baker Muller and his good wife looked at her wistfully.