"I know who is brave now," I heard Mr. Bertram whisper; and Mr. Laurence put his arms tightly round the child, and called her "his little darling."
"But I was naughty, because I was in a temper," said she; "and I meant to ask for that catseye, Grandpapa; and now I won't."
Mr. Laurence smiled at the idea. "No, my dear; something else,—not the catseye," he said. "But you are a good child to tell me exactly what has happened, and not to let Miles be blamed unjustly."
"Oh, I couldn't do that, of course," she said, holding up her head. "It would be so horrid, you know. And of course I knew he was right, though I did tell him he was impertinent,—didn't I, museum-boy?"
"My dear, call him 'Miles,'" said Mr. Laurence.
"Why,—he is a museum-boy, isn't he?" said she wilfully. "O Grandpapa! do let me go into your study with you now, and you can tell me stories. And Bertie must come too. And I don't want Nurse any more till bed-time,—or Mrs. Crane."
And then, to my surprise, as she went by she gave me a smile, and said, "I'm sorry I was naughty."
Well, she might be a little spoilt; but anyway she was sweet. I didn't wonder when I saw how fond Mr. Bertram was of her, after that.