Throckmorton, however, with an air of gentle authority, took the bird from her and put it back in the bag.
“If you cry for such things as this, you will have a hard time in life,” he said.
Jacqueline’s face did not clear up at once.
“I want you to do something for me—to promise me something,” she said, gravely.
“What is it?” asked Throckmorton. Jacqueline had laid her charm upon him in the last ten minutes, but he did not forget his caution entirely.
“It is,” said Jacqueline, punctuating her words with tender, appealing glances, “that you won’t kill any more robins—never, never, as long as you live.”
Throckmorton refrained from smiling, as he felt inclined, but it was plainly no laughing matter to Jacqueline. And if he gave the promise—nobody knew the absurdity of it more than Throckmorton—suppose Jack heard of it, what endless fun would he poke at his father on the sly! Nevertheless, Throckmorton, calling himself an old fool, made the promise.
Jacqueline, flushed with triumph, now conceived a bold design. She would—that is, if her courage held out—tell him that her mother had at last come round. This delightful information she proceeded to impart.
“Do you know,” she said, smiling and showing her little even white teeth, “that mamma has at last agreed to—to let us have something to do with you and Jack?”
“Has she, indeed?” replied Throckmorton, with rather a grim smile.