But Eric was impatient. "How can she be wicked when she's so beautiful!" he exclaimed. He was so little used to beautiful people in his life that now he was fascinated and delighted.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch looked at Ivra then, and Ivra saw how her eyes were dancing, great black eyes full of splendor and fun. She caught her breath. She laughed back at the Beautiful Wicked Witch. She could not help herself. But her hands flew to her mouth to stop the laugh.
"Shut your eyes, Eric. That must be best, not to look at her at all. That is what mother did when she came before. She bolted the door and then we sat down in front of the fire and never looked at the window once, while she told me a long, lovely World Story about Psyche and her little playmate Eros. Then when we had forgotten all about the Beautiful Wicked Witch, we looked at the window by accident and she was gone. Come, I'll tell you a World Story now, the same one."
But Eric hardly heard what she was saying. He moved nearer and nearer to the window. Ivra followed him, charmed by the laughing face there too. Then together they unbolted the windowpane and opened it outward. The Beautiful Wicked Witch stepped in.
"How silly to be afraid of me, children," she laughed. "I have only come to play with you."
"Oh goody!" cried both of the children together. For now that she was in the room all their fear and wonder had vanished.
It was dusk, and so they lighted all the candles and poked the fire, before they turned to entertain their guest. But the candles did not burn very well, very faintly and flickeringly,—and the fire fell lower and lower, instead of growing higher and higher as they nursed it.
"Don't mind about that," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "There's enough light from the window for us to play together in. We won't bother with the stubborn old fire and the silly little copy-cat candles. Come, what shall we play?"
But the children had been playing hard all day, and their bodies were tired. "Oh, tell us a story instead of playing," begged Ivra. "This is the time when mother tells her very best stories."
"Well, I am not mother," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but I will tell you the best stories I can. Come sit near the window where the light is stronger. That fire will never burn while I am here. I am brighter than it, and the old thing is jealous."