"Well, but what?"
"But I am so sorry;" and that she was so was proved, as she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
"Sorry for what?" he asked.
She gave him no answer, but shrank a little away.
"Sorry for what?" he repeated, as if determined to know; and the tone of command, which seemed to say he was used to instant obedience, forced her to speak, whether she would or no.
"Sorry for those words you said, sir," she sobbed.
"Those words? What words?" But his question answered itself as it was spoken; for his wicked words, which but for this would have been forgotten the next instant, came back to him, and he stood rebuked before this poor little flower-girl. He repented already; but repented only because he had distressed this simple child, in whom he took so much interest, not yet because he had grieved and offended the Holy One whose name he had profaned.
Still he was vexed too.
"Why, you don't mean to say," he said rather impatiently, "that you never hear such words as those, standing here as you do, half the day, with those rough men and boys about you?"