Left alone, Gretel stood quite still in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door. She had not the least idea what all the trouble was about, but one thing was painfully clear; in some way, quite unintentionally on her part, she had offended Mrs. Marsh, and made her very angry. She was not fond of Mrs. Marsh, but she did not want any one to be angry with her. She was quite sure she had not told her brother any wicked stories, but if he thought she had, and had told Mrs. Marsh so, what could she do? She was only a little girl, and nobody could be expected to believe her word against the word of a grown-up person, but why, oh, why, had Percy—her beloved Percy—said such cruel, untrue things about her? He had been so kind, and had really seemed to like her, but if he said she told wicked stories he could not possibly like her. It must have been all a mistake on her part. Suddenly a great wave of disappointment and loneliness swept over the poor little girl, and with a sob, she flung herself face downward on the bed, just as she had done on the day when she came back from fairy-land, and began to cry as if her heart would break.
Again it was Annie who disturbed her by opening the door, and putting in her head, with almost the very same words she had used on that other occasion: “You’re wanted in the parlor.” And having delivered this curt message, went away again, leaving the door open.
Gretel rose slowly, and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face. She had been crying so hard that her head ached, and she felt rather giddy and confused. But this time she did not wait to bathe her face before answering the summons. If Mrs. Marsh wanted to scold her, it might be as well to let her get through with it as soon as possible, and that lady did not like to be kept waiting.
Gretel did not look up when she entered the parlor. She was such a forlorn little figure, in her shabby frock, her face all tear-stained and swollen from crying that the young man standing on the rug by the mantelpiece, was conscious of a momentary feeling of something very like dismay. But when Gretel saw who was the sole occupant of the room, and ran to him with a little cry, his face softened, and it was with real tenderness that he put his arm round her, saying gently:
“What’s the matter, Gretel? Tell me all about it.”
But, to Mr. Douane’s surprise, Gretel did not respond to his caress; she even drew a little away from him, and the big brown eyes were full of a mute reproach.
“What made you say it?” she asked in a voice that was not much above a whisper.
“Say what?” her brother inquired, curiously.
“Tell Mrs. Marsh I told wicked stories, and that I was a—a tell-tale?” finished Gretel, with a sob.
Percy Douane’s face grew very stern, and his eyes flashed ominously.