She told me so in one of
her letters. What age have you reached, Uncle Winthrop?"
"Middle age."
"Is that very old?" Dorothea came closer, and her fingers slipped in
and out of Laine's hair. "You're gray just a teensy bit, but I don't
think she's a person who will mind if a man isn't truly young.
You've got such nice strong arms, and I'm not afraid of lions or
tigers or bears or--or mice or anything when you are with me. Please
like her, Uncle Winthrop!" Dorothea's face was pressed against
Laine's. "Next to father and mother and Channing I love you best,
and I think I'm going to love her next after you."
"Mademoiselle Dorothea!"
From the steps outside Antoinette was calling, and Dorothea nodded
her head at her uncle. "That's another thing my children are not
going to have. They are never going to have a French governess to
put them to bed and make them say their prayers in French. I don't
believe the Lord likes it. Good night, Uncle Winthrop. I hope my
cousin Claudia will be politer about you than you've been about her,
and I know she hasn't red hands." She waved her own and threw a kiss,
but as she reached the door Laine called her back.
"Come here, Dorothea."
She turned and came toward him. "Did you call me, Uncle Winthrop?"
"I did.
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