"How shy you are--a wild, forest thing! I'll have to civilize you."
"Leave him alone," admonished Hugh softly, "leave him alone."
As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at
Pete. It was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening,
pitiful and dangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella
stood up and began to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter
of noisy energy.
"How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?" she asked him afterward.
He was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece
of flour-sacking.
"Since we've let it begin, we'll have to go on with it to a finish,"
he answered coldly. "After all"--he paused, polished a platter and
turned away to put it on its shelf--"he's not doing anything so
dreadful--just twisting the facts a little. I _am_ an ignorant lout.
I might as well be fourteen, for all I know."
"And I _am_ a mummy of a woman?"
In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. "Don't be a goose,
Bella," he said, but she flung his hand from her. "Why does it make
you so sore and angry?" he asked wistfully. "Hugh is not pretty to
look at, but perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do--in a way;
and if she learns to love him while she's blind, then, when she sees
him, if she ever sees him--"
"Chances are she never will.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47