CHAPTER VII.
As she got clear of the city and out on her country road, a shadow Fell
across her in the evening light.
"Have you had a good day, little one?" asked a voice that made her stop
with a curious vague expectancy and pleasure.
"It is you!" she said, with a little cry, as she saw her friend of the
silk stockings leaning on a gate midway in the green and solitary road
that leads to Laeken.
"Yes, it is I," he answered, as he joined her. "Have you forgiven me,
Bebee?"
She looked at him with frank, appealing eyes, like those of a child in
fault.
"Oh, I did not sleep all night!" she said, simply. "I thought I had been
rude and ungrateful, and I could not be sure I had done right, though to
have done otherwise would certainly have been wrong."
He laughed.
"Well, that is a clearer deduction than is to be drawn from most moral
uncertainties. Do not think twice about the matter, my dear. I have not,
I assure you."
"No!"
She was a little disappointed. It seemed such an immense thing to her;
and she had lain awake all the night, turning it about in her little
brain, and appealing vainly for help in it to the sixteen sleep-angels.
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