"Why do you look so queer?" she cried suddenly. "I only did it because I loved my mummy; I would do as much for you to-morrow. Why don't you speak?—are you shocked?"
"Yes—I should think I was. I am wondering what your mother would have said to this," he demanded sternly.
"Oh, mummy would have scolded and pretended to be angry," she answered, with an air of serene conviction, "but in her heart all the time she would be so glad."
And as she pronounced this opinion, she nursed her elbows and nodded her head reassuringly.
"Well, Angel," said her cousin after a painful silence, "I would not have believed this story from any lips but your own. I can hardly credit what you tell me. I am sorry to find that you are different to what I thought you were, a mischievous, vindictive, cunning child."
For an instant the little culprit looked stunned, as if she could not believe her ears.
"Oh, Phil!" she cried in a voice of intense anguish. "Don't say it—I'm not—I'm not—and I'm going away to-morrow, and you are angry with me. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?"
And she wrung her tiny hands in a wild frenzy of grief.
"It is certainly time you went home, Angel," he returned steadily, "and if you love me, as you say, I implore you to play no more of these monkey tricks. I hate treacherous, underhand ways. Think of all the damage you did. You destroyed what must have cost a great deal of money."
"But, Phil, you don't understand," she pleaded, and tears rained down her face; "I did all for mummy, my own mummy, and now"—her voice rising to a wail—"she is dead, and you are angry—oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?"