"Hulloa, Melina," he was beginning, but something in her look caught his attention, and he paused to stare at her, then asked: "I say, are you hungry?"
"Awfully," she admitted.
"Oh, that's too bad!" he exclaimed. "Here, do take that tuppence—"
"No," she interposed stubbornly, "I won't."
"Then let me buy you some buns—"
"I wouldn't touch them if you did."
"Don't say that, Melina. I'm sorry for you—sorry you should be hungry, I mean—"
The little girl interrupted him again, her heart full of resentment and bitterness.
"You mind your own business, William Jones," she said; "I don't believe you're sorry—more likely you're glad."