"What makes you think she was sorry?"
He looked down into the eyes with an infinite persuasion, and his voice had an accent hard to resist.
"Oh!—because—she was sometimes so sad and sweet, and used to go walking by herself in the twilight. Occasionally she would let me come. I can't quite tell—there are some things you feel. And it isn't right to keep angry forever."
The child's tone was more assured. She was on firmer moral ground.
"Then you think I have been angry long enough?" It had seemed years to him.
"Papa was very angry and scolded Jaqueline, but didn't keep angry. Charles and I have been so sorry! Oh, you will make up friends?"
"You love Charles as much as ever, then? Happy Charles! When you have love you have all the best of life."
"Then why don't you ask Jaqueline to love you again? Oh, I am sure she would!"
There was a sweet seriousness in the face and the tone, the innocence of the child.
"And why didn't you go to Philadelphia?" he asked presently.