His expression was
indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and pain
accentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberately
entertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension.
She saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainment
languidly.
"Now, _you're_ too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are.
You're a regular bear for the truth."
"I can't see anything else," she said gloomily. "Things are just so
to me--no blinking them."
He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. "What do
you see when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?"
"The water-bucket?" She flushed. "Just because you caught me prinking
that once!"
"Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?"
"An ugly old woman, Pete."
"There! Your mind's just the wrong-side-out of Hugh's. He won't see
himself ugly, and you won't see yourself pretty. I'm the only sane
fellow in this house."
"And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her.
Besides, you're too young." She said it with a tart sweetness and
vanished into the kitchen.
With her departure Pete's whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and
he began to stare out through the snow-walled window.
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