And she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
"Dear Belle," said I, "would you—would you—could you—now—"
"What?" whispered she, very softly.
"If I thought," I stammered, "that you could—that you would—that it was handy to give me a drink of water." She sprang up as if shot, and rang a little hand-bell.
"Jane, a glass of water for this gentleman—ice-water," in a very chilly tone, and she sat down over by the piano.
Bashful fool and idiot that I was. I had lost another opportunity.
After I had swallowed the water Jane had left the room. I bethought me of the handsome present which I had in my pocket, and, hoping to regain her favor by that, I drew out the little package and tossed it carelessly in her lap.
"Belle," said I, "I have not forgotten that I spilled lemonade on your sash; I hope you will not refuse to allow me to make such amends as are in my power. If the color does not suit you, I will exchange it for any you may select."
She began to smile again, coquettishly untying the string and unwrapping the paper. Instead of the lovely rose-colored ribbon, out rolled a long pair of coarse blue cotton stockings.
Miss Marigold screamed louder than she had at the thunder.