And feeling very sorry for herself, and for every one concerned except Bertrand, towards whom, I fear, her feelings were more of anger than grief, Mavis sat down on one of the capacious old chairs that stood beside her and began to cry quietly. Suddenly a strange sensation came over her—through her, rather. She drew her handkerchief from her eyes and looked up—she had to look up—and—yes, there it was again, there they were again. The wonderful unforgettable blue eyes, so searching, so irresistible, so tender. Sweet and perfectly loving as they were, it was yet impossible to meet them without a half-trembling thrill. And the first thought that flashed through the little girl was, “How could I bear her to look at me if I had been naughty?”
“Naughty” she had not been, but—she felt her cheeks flush—look down she could not, as she said to herself that she was afraid she had been—
The word was taken out of her thoughts and expressed just as she came to it.
“Silly,” said the clear soft voice. “Silly little Mavis. What is it all about? Is everything going wrong at the first trial?”
Then as Mavis gazed, the silvery-blue mist grew firmer and less vague, and gradually the lovely form and features became distinct.
“Oh dear princess,” said the child, “I am so glad you have come. Yes, I daresay I am silly, but I am so unhappy;” and she poured out all her troubles. “I shall not be unhappy any more,” she ended up, “now I know you are true. I had almost begun to fancy you were all a dream.”
Forget-me-not smiled, but for a moment or two she did not speak. Then she said—
“What is it you are afraid of Ruby doing—Ruby and Bertrand?”
“Playing some unkind trick on Winfried,” replied Mavis eagerly; “or even worse—for Ruby knows that would hurt him most—on his old grandfather. It would be so horrid, so wicked,” and Mavis’s voice grew tearful again, “when they have been so kind to us. Oh dear princess, will you stop them?” Forget-me-not looked at her gravely.
“My child,” she said, “do they not know it would be wrong to do such a thing?”