“‘Not to have told you would have been a lie.’”
“Nobody. I heard the boys calling in the street—and—I went.”
I turned upon her and looked at her narrowly. “Why do you tell me?” I asked.
“Because not to have told you would have been a lie.”
She said this quite simply. I had never been so astonished before in my life. “And what of that?” said I—a shameful question under the circumstances to put to a child; but I was completely off my guard, and I couldn’t believe there was not an underlying motive of practical gain.
“I do not care to lie,” she answered, her eyes upon mine. I found her look hard to withstand—a new experience for me, as I can usually compel any one’s gaze to shift.
“You’re a good child,” said I, patting her on the shoulder. “I shall not punish you this time. You may go.”
She flushed to the line of her hair, and her eyes blazed. She drew herself away from my hand and left me staring after her, more astonished than before.
A strange person—surely, a personality! She will be troublesome some day—soon.