"Oh, you're alone; that's right," he said. "May I come in for a minute?"
His manner was a little nervous and hurried, in perfect contrast to his usual open, frank sort of way.
"I've brought you this back," he said, going up to Miss Nelson. "I'm awfully sorry about it, and the worst of it is I can't give any explanation. It's disgracefully broken and injured, but I thought you would rather have it back as it is, than never to see it again."
Miss Nelson turned very white while Basil was speaking. An eager, longing, hopeful look grew and grew in her eyes. She stretched out her hands; they trembled.
"My miniature!" she exclaimed. "My picture once again. Oh, Basil, thank God! Oh, I have missed it!"
"Here it is," said Basil. He had wrapped the poor little injured picture up in some white tissue-paper, and tied the parcel together with a bit of ribbon. He hoped Miss Nelson would say something before she opened it.
"Here it is—it isn't a bit the same," he said.
She scarcely heard him. She began feverishly to pull the ribbon away.
"I wouldn't look at it just for a minute," began Basil. He had scarcely spoken, before there came a knock at the door. A firm voice said, "May I come in?" and Miss Wilton, who had returned from London about an hour before, entered the room. She came in just in time to see Miss Nelson remove the tissue-paper from the broken face of the miniature. The poor governess uttered a piercing cry, sank down on her knees by the center table, and covered her thin face with her hands.
"What is it, Basil? What is the matter?" asked Miss Wilton in astonishment. "I come in to find high heroics going on. What is the matter?"