“Because your mother has seemed so happy.” And, he added to himself: “Because I tremble for all that is to come.”
“Are you angry with me, Mr Bayle?” said Julia, after a pause.
“Angry with you, my child?” he said, with his eyes brightening, though there was a piteous look in his face. “Oh, no; how could I be?”
“I don’t know,” she replied; “but you have grown more and more changed. I have seen so little of you lately, and you have avoided me.”
“But you have not been dull. You have had many companions and friends.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, “and they have been so kind; but I have seemed to regret the past days when we were all so quiet and happy together.”
“Hush!” he said quickly. “Don’t speak like that.”
“Not speak like that? There, now you are angry with me again.”
“Angry? No, no, my child,” cried Bayle, whose voice trembled with emotion. “I am not angry with you.”
“Yes; that’s how I like to hear you speak,” cried Julia. “That is how you used to speak to me, and not in that grave, measured way, as if you were dissatisfied.”