This vehement confession, with its note of defiance, was bewildering. Allan hesitated before this unapproachable, tempestuous Celia. Then he drew his chair nearer. "Celia, dear heart, do not speak so; I have not been tried like you, but give me the chance and see how I will atone for the past."
Suddenly Celia held out her hand; "Oh, Allan, I am so very bad-tempered. I seem always determined to quarrel," she said, with a laugh that was half a sob.
This was enough, the strain was broken; Allan forsook the arm-chair for the settle.
It was perhaps some fifteen minutes later when he asked Celia if she remembered the magician, and the tiger with three white whiskers. "What a brave little girl you were," he added.
"Little goose," said Celia.
"Does that mean you will no longer follow me blindly?"
She laughed. "What made you think of it?" she asked.
"Rosalind inquired the other day if I was the boy."
"Allan, I don't know why I told the children that story."
"At least it gave me the courage to try my fate."