"I'd like you to tell Chris you're sorry, too. If I bring Chris here, will you do so?"
"Oh, but I aren't, not a bit!"
"Noel!"
Noel closed his eyes tightly again.
"I'm afraid," he murmured, "Satan's still inside me; he's left a bit of himself behind."
Mrs. Inglefield got up.
She knew that Noel rather liked to prolong this kind of conversation.
"I am going to fetch Chris," she said; "if you're really sorry—and God will not forgive you unless you are—you will of course, own up to him that it was your fault in the beginning—you know that is true."
She left the room. Noel wriggled about a good deal in bed, and when Chris came in there was nothing visible of him: only a fat lump below the bedclothes.
"Here is Chris," said Mrs. Inglefield; "I will leave you together."