Her voice shook a little as she tied up a bunch of
mignonette and told the price of it.
Those beautiful stockings! why had she ever seen them, and why had he
told her a lie?
It made her heart heavy. For the first time in her brief life the
Broodhuis seemed to frown between her and the sun.
Undisturbed, he painted on and did not look at her.
The day was nearly done. The people began to scatter. The shadows grew
very long. He painted, not glancing once elsewhere than at his study.
Bebee's baskets were quite empty.
She rose, and lingered, and regarded him wistfully: he was angered;
perhaps she had been rude? Her little heart failed her.
If he would only look up!
But he did not look up; he kept his handsome dark face studiously over
the canvas of the Broodhuis. She would have seen a smile in his eyes if
he had lifted them; but he never raised his lids.
Bebee hesitated: take the stockings she would not; but perhaps she had
refused them too roughly. She wished so that he would look up and save
her speaking first; but he knew what he was about too warily and well to
help her thus.
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