He drew forth from his pocket a handkerchief.
With two steps forward he offered it to the lady. As he did so he bowed with the pretentious grace of a Chesterfield advancing to the relief of Beauty. But Miss Clement recoiled. For on this handkerchief were blood stains—also mud—and green paint. Too much disgusted to think of manners, she ignored his offer and used her own handkerchief. But she shrank from replacing it in a clean pocket.
Looking down at the floor she frowned.
"I hope it was not you who cut those pictures from that nice book."
The Vandal smiled, and nodded, giving the impression of pride in the work.
"Are you the only person in the house?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. Joanna's gone to the store."
Again she frowned down at the litter on the floor. "Does your mother know what you have been doing here?"
"Oh, no!"
"Has she never told you not to cut up books?"