As it was, she started when he appeared at the end
of the side-alley, and looked up at him with two great drops rolling
down her cheeks. What else could he do but speak to her in a soft,
soothing tone, as if she were a bright-eyed spaniel with a thorn in her
foot?
"Has something frightened you, Hetty? Have you seen anything in the
wood? Don't be frightened--I'll take care of you now."
Hetty was blushing so, she didn't know whether she was happy or
miserable. To be crying again--what did gentlemen think of girls who
cried in that way? She felt unable even to say "no," but could only look
away from him and wipe the tears from her cheek. Not before a great drop
had fallen on her rose-coloured strings--she knew that quite well.
"Come, be cheerful again. Smile at me, and tell me what's the matter.
Come, tell me."
Hetty turned her head towards him, whispered, "I thought you wouldn't
come," and slowly got courage to lift her eyes to him. That look was too
much: he must have had eyes of Egyptian granite not to look too lovingly
in return.
"You little frightened bird! Little tearful rose! Silly pet! You won't
cry again, now I'm with you, will you?"
Ah, he doesn't know in the least what he is saying. This is not what
he meant to say.
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