“Isn’t she pretty good—for a girl?” he casually asked.
“Who?”
“Lentala. She did these things.”
Ever since the scene at the end of the passage, sadness had sat upon me, and I was in no mood to enjoy Beelo’s pleasantries,—this, too, while I was deeply touched by the labor and gentle thoughtfulness with which everything had been done for our comfort. Still, something precious was gone from my life; my heart hungered for the lad. But he was here! In a swirl of perversity I seized Beelo’s hands, and held him before me.
“Dear lad,” I said, “I am walking in the dark. Believe me, little brother, I am grateful—more grateful than any words could say—for the skill and the kindness that we have seen from you. But my heart is sore, and you are laughing at me.”
Something between suspicion and embarrassment had been rapidly growing in Beelo’s face. Of a sudden he closed my mouth with his hand and made a brave rally of Beelo’s old flippancies.
“Christopher,” he said, “did you ever see such a goose? Such an old goose?”
I gently removed his hand.
“I am serious, boy.”
“Hush!” commanded Beelo in a whisper.