When Bella appeared at the breaking up of school that day, and restored the locket, Miss Mar received it in a lofty silence, refusing even to look at a little girl so ill-mannered and ungrateful.
But the next day Bella, much subdued by one of her recurrent attacks of homesickness, red-eyed, a little pinched-looking and woebegone, begged pardon so prettily, that Miss Mar’s heart was melted.
“And I didn’t really show it to the others. Ask anybody. I wouldn’t do that. Oh, no!” And then betraying the true ground of this pious self-control, “Is it your brother?”
“No.” Hildegarde bent her head over the slate.
“Who is it?”
“A friend of my father’s.”
“Do you love him dreadfully?”
“Of course not. I never saw him.”
“What makes you wear his picture?”