“Why, you're not crying for that, surely?” Flutters asked, never more astonished in his life.
“Yes, just for that—just for that—and I'll cry harder and harder until you tell.”
The truth was, all the Van Vleets were so in the habit of humoring this poor sister of theirs, and never crossing her will if it could possibly be helped, that this refusal on Flutters's part truly seemed to her most preposterous, and she was shedding actual tears. Flutters saw one or two of them find their way through her fingers, and, like other heroes, relented at the sight; besides, what else was to be done?
“I will tell you, I will tell you,” he said softly; “my real name is Arthur Wainwright;” and the mere sound of it, whispered though it was, made him start. It was so long now since he had heard it on the lips of any one! Indeed, it did not seem as though it belonged to him at all.
“That's a pretty name,” replied Pauline, beginning to be comforted and to dry her tears; “now tell me all about you.”
“Oh, I can't,” replied Flutters, pained at the need of refusing; “I must keep it a secret.”
“You can keep it a secret all the same,” said Pauline sadly, and with that insight into her own deficiencies which sometimes flashes across a distraught mind, “for, you see, I cannot remember it long enough to tell it to anybody, so tell me, please—please tell me; nothing makes Pauline so happy as a real true story.”
The entreaty in her voice was too much for Flutters, and he dreaded more than he could express a fresh outburst of tears, therefore he decided to run the risk, and try if he could to make Miss Pauline happy, especially as he thought it highly probable that what she said was true, and that she really would not remember anything long enough to repeat it.