“You poor child! what a wicked, wicked shame!”
“Do you—do you really believe me, Honor?”
Maria spoke timidly, and in the half darkness of the room, Honor could feel her eyes peering anxiously into her own.
“Of course I believe you!” she cried. “Every single word, Maria. Nobody could possibly doubt you. Of course it was a pity, and a silly thing to do, and all that; but—why—there’s nothing dreadful about it, Maria. It has only to be explained, and every one will understand in a minute, and everything will be all right. You see if it isn’t!”
“But I can’t explain! How can I, when no one will speak to me? It’s no use, Honor!”
“I’ll explain! I’ll tell the girls all about it to-morrow, after breakfast, and then everything will be all right. Now you must go to sleep like a good girl. Shut your eyes and let go, and I’ll sing to you.”
Exhausted with misery and weeping, Maria was only too glad to shut her eyes and “let go,” while Honor, still stroking her forehead, crooned softly,
“‘On the Alp the grass is sweetest,
Li-u-o, my Queen!’”
It was midnight when Honor, chilly but happy, crept back to bed, leaving Maria fast asleep. She nestled down on her pillow cozily.