She had always loved children, she
told herself, so there was no shame in that. But the next minute her
heart would call up the image of this boy grown up, a boy still, but a
boy with a man's eyes and a man's dormant strength. Being an honest
soul Nanny flushed and cried for the mother she could not remember.
Still as the days went by Nanny found that the little fellow stood
gallantly by her. Somehow he helped her to grow used to the pain and
the burning joy of her secret. He helped her to endure the questions
and the teasing that is the lot of girls as lovely as Nanny.
He helped her to laugh when she felt like crying. And best of all he
steadied her when Cynthia's son was by, when her heart was beating
horribly and her head was dizzy with happiness and fright.
She was a new girl to the boy from India. He was no longer afraid of
her. She no longer said bright, sharp things that puzzled and hurt
him. She was quiet and kind and frequently now exceedingly ill at ease.
One day while they were walking along the road he stopped suddenly and
looked at her.
"Are you tired?" he asked abruptly.
"No--I'm not tired," Nanny said a little surprised at the question.
"Are you ill?" he next wanted to know.
"Ill? Why--no.
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