She held out her hand to him, to see whether he had forgiven her; he took it, held it in the warm pressure of his, and finally kissed the little fingers two or three times before letting them go.
“You are a dear little creature, and I should like you to insult me every day for the pleasure of forgiving you. But that is too much to hope for; you won’t do more than ignore me.”
“Is that fair? You pretend to forgive me, and then bring another accusation against me in the same breath,” protested Annie, who did, indeed, habitually avoid tête-à-têtes with him, but who, as usual, once brought to bay, was perfectly at her ease and able to defend herself.
“Well, I thought I had better state all my grievances at once, as I know it will be a long time before you give me another chance. Seriously, it gives me great pain to see you sitting silent in my house or slipping through the rooms like a snubbed and neglected child, only waking up into life and brightness when you are out of sight of—those who are longing to see you happy.”
The tears were in her eyes. She was touched by the kindness of his words; but how could she tell him that his own mother and sister cast, by their coldness, a chill upon her from which, in their presence, it was impossible for her to escape?
“I will try to be more cheerful,” said she humbly, and rather dismally.
“No, that won’t do,” declared George, impatiently. “I don’t want you to pump up liveliness that you don’t feel, or laugh when you feel inclined to cry.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Well, when anything amuses you, and you look stealthily at William with a perfectly stolid face but a laugh in your eyes, will you look at me, too? I can enjoy a joke as well as he.”
“Did you notice that?” said Annie, wonderingly.