Dearest-One was aflame in a second. "Not fit for it?" she echoed. "That is not true. He is as fit for it really as--as thou art, brother. Only he will belittle himself! He will talk of himself as a shadow--an unsubstantial shadow! It is not true, it is not right, it is not fair, and so I told him the other night."
Babar put down his knife and stared.
"Thou didst tell him so--but when?"
Dearest-One hung her head, though a faint smile showed on her face. She had given herself away; but she was not in the least afraid of her brother. Many youngsters of his age might, from their own experiences in love affairs, have been seriously disturbed at the idea of their sister speaking to a young man on a dark stair; but Babar was an innocent child. To him it would be but a slight breach of decorum. Yet something made her breath short as she replied coolly:
"I met him on the stairs. It was dark, so he could not see me, brother; and I spoke to him as--as a mother to her son." The head went down a little more over the last words; true as they were in one sense, she knew better in her heart-of-hearts.
"And he--what said he?" asked Babar alertly, taking his sister completely by surprise. With the memory of that cry "Beloved! beloved!" in her mind--it had lingered there day and night--she faltered.
"Dearest-One!" said the boy, grave, open-eyed, after a pause, "did he kiss thee?"
The girl looked up indignantly, a dark flush under her wheat-coloured skin. "Kiss me?" she echoed--"he did not even really touch me--"
And then, suddenly, she hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. True--he had not touched her--he had shrunk from her eager body. Why? oh, why?--
Babar was full of concern. He laid down his knife and arrow, and went over to his sister. "Then there is nothing to weep about, see you," he said stoutly, "save lack of manners, and for that thou art sorry. Is it not so, dearest?"