"But if one is careful, Christine--I mean, really careful?"
"It doesn't always help, Robert. And even if it did, the people who
need to live most have to take risks----" She broke off, following
her thought further till it was far beyond his reach. "In fifteen
years you will be grown up. You will be able to take care of yourself.
What will you be then?"
"A doctor," he said firmly; "and I'll look after you, Christine, and
you'll live for ever and ever."
"A doctor--a doctor!" She seemed startled, almost frightened. "Yes,
of course. Your father would want it. He was always proud of his
profession, though he made fun. But it will mean more--waiting a
little longer."
She brooded, her hand covering her eyes, and he crept nearer to her,
pressing himself against her arm, trying to draw her back.
"Christine, who--who are you?"
"I don't know, Robert, I don't know----"
"I mean--why do you look after me? You're not my mother."
"Why, I love you."
"But you didn't at the beginning. You couldn't have done."
"Your father and I were friends. Yes, always--always--right through
everything--to the very end. When your mother came into our lives, I
loved her almost more. That will seem very strange to you one of these
days, but it was true. When she was dying she asked me to take care of
you both." She drew herself up, and pushed the untidy wisps of hair
out of her face, and with that gesture she seemed suddenly to grow
vigorous and young.
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