And as she still remained tongue-tied, he bent over her, and, stroking her forehead, asked her, grinning--
"Have we made peace at last, dear child?"
This was a ray of light. She thanked God for it, nodded, and tried to smile.
"Well, well," he ejaculated in doubt, as she had not spoken.
But instead of an answer, she gathered the roses together and offered them to him.
"Do they belong to me?" he asked.
"Yes, to you," she whispered, with a shy, tender light in her eyes, "dir".[[1]] He marked the expression, and a bitter sense of a marred happiness stabbed his soul. He seized the little brown hand in gratitude.
At this moment steps were heard in the dining-room, the glass door of which stood open.
"Grandmamma is coming!" exclaimed Hertha, shocked, snatching away her hand.
"Well, let her come," he said, in some surprise.