"And I shall be left to sit around," says Vee, "bored stiff."
I knew it wasn't just a whim of hers; for one evening along towards the
last, I found her with her eyelids red.
"Been cryin'?" I asks.
"A little," says Vee. "Silly thing to do when one's packing."
"See here, Vee," says I; "I ought to be doing something about this."
"But you can't," says she. "No one can. I must trot along with
Auntie, just as I always have, and stay until--until she's ready to
come back."
"Then it'll be a case of movin' on somewhere for the summer, I
expect--Nova Scotia or Iceland?" says I.
Vee nods and lets out a sigh.
"If we was a pair of wild ducks, now," says I.
At which she snickers kind of hysterical and--well, it's the first time
I ever knew her to do the sob act. Also I'd never been quite sure
before that I was much more to her than sort of an amusin' pal. But
when she grips me around the neck that way, and snuggles her head of
straw-colored hair down on my necktie, and just naturally cuts loose
for a good cry--say, then I knew.
[Illustration: "Then she grips me around the neck, and snuggles her
head down on my necktie--say, then I knew."]
I knew it was to be me and Vee from then on. I ain't givin' it any
fancy name.
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