“There, there, my dear, don’t cry,” he said, with a clumsy imitation of gentleness. “Shall I ring for a maid? Will you have some sal volatile?”
“No,” said Patty, trying hard to check her sobs; “no, I will go away.”
“But what’s it all about?” said the bewildered old man. “What made you cry?”
“You did,” said Patty, with such suddenness that he nearly fell over.
“I? Bless my soul! What did I do?”
“You were so c-cross,” said Patty, weeping afresh at the remembrance of his cold looks.
“Well, never mind, child, I won’t be cross again. Tell me all about it.”
Surely Sir Otho was melting! Patty sagaciously believed he was touched by her tears, so made no desperate effort to stop them.
“I c-can’t tell you now. You’re not in a k-kind m-mood.”
“Yes, I am; try to tell me, my dear child.”