The next morning the Bicycle-man came again.
“The wedding is put off—” he began. Then he saw the lifeless form of the Little Dancer, and he turned pale.
“You have killed her by your vanity,” said the China Doll severely. “If you had stayed away she would have forgotten you. But you would come because it pleased your conceit to hear her say she loved you, and to hear her lament because you did not love her. She has danced herself to death in her despair. Alas! Alas! My poor friend!”
“I really believe I loved her after all,” said the Bicycle-man in a sad voice. “What can I say or do to make some slight amends? Tell me.”
“There is nothing to be said or done,” said the China Doll. “The poor Little Dancer is dead. It is too late! Go and marry the Doll of the Red House.”
“I don’t want to now,” he answered. “Henceforward my life shall be passed mourning for the Little Dancer who broke her heart because of me. And from this time I shall ride my bicycle sitting with my back to the handle, and with my hands behind me. It will be a most absurd position, but it will serve as a punishment to remind me of the sad end to which my vanity brought my poor little sweetheart.”
And he strictly kept his resolve. At first the other Toys laughed: then they wondered; then they inquired into the meaning of so strange a performance. And when they heard the story, such of them as had heads shook them, and all said gravely:
“’Tis well and nobly meant. But it won’t mend the poor Little Dancer’s heart. Alas! Alack-a-day!”
