God, and Philip Stellenthorpe's magnanimity, had defeated Lily.
She crept away, dragging her feet.
Her head ached and her eyes smarted and, dressed up in her white silk frock and best hat, precociously sensitive to the contrast, she had to leave Vonnie in everyday clothes and nursery pinafore, a forlorn figure at the window, and take her seat between her parents in the open carriage.
As they drove, she heard them exchange comments over her head, as they very often did, in slightly lowered tones.
"Her poor little eyes are quite swollen——"
"Poor little thing!"
They always forgave her quickly, like that, however frightful her offence.
Would that God had been equally unresentful! All through the unappreciated afternoon, Lily was secretly addressing earnest, spasmodic appeals to that unappeasable Avenger.
"Don't make Vonnie have earache—not this time!... I did stop screaming at the end—I am sorry—I never, never mean to be naughty again. Oh, don't make Vonnie have earache—give me any other punishment—(but of course He won't, because He knows that nothing else makes me half so miserable—) If only Vonnie doesn't have earache this time, I promise I'll never be naughty again as long as I live—"
"Have you enjoyed yourself, my pet?"