“So they wrote you that, too?” angrily. “But it wasn’t my fault! He was fickle, I think. He tired of Emmie, and wanted to pay me attention. I said no every time, but she wouldn’t believe me, so just once—to tease her because she had scolded me so—I danced with him as often as he asked me, and I—I was real spiteful toward Emmie that time, I own it, but she provoked me! I never thought of flirting with anybody. The boys all seemed to like me. I suppose it was because I was fond of dancing, and could sing—”
She paused for breath, and the dark eyes watching her face seemed to say, mutely:
“Isn’t there more yet?”
Blushing deeper than ever, she added:
“Well, some of them made a great fuss over my curls! I can’t see why! I don’t like the color. I would have changed with Emmie any day for her beautiful brown braids!”
Norman de Vere smiled as his eyes wandered to the beautiful ripples of gold falling to the small, round waist. He thought there was some excuse for “the boys,” as she called them.
Thea drew a long, half-sobbing breath, and the small hand on his coat-sleeve unconsciously tightened its pressure.
“Do you believe me?” she asked, eagerly, anxiously. “I—I—can’t bear that you should believe their stories. It was just as I have told you. I never thought of flirting with anybody.”
She looked at him eagerly, fondly, almost as if she were going to fall into his arms, as in that long past time of babyhood that recurred to him vividly now. But he said to himself, amusedly:
“No doubt she looks on me as a brother, too. No wonder poor Frank Hinton lost his heart if she played sister in this sweet, confiding fashion. Little witch, she is very charming, and perhaps she does not really know her power.”