It would have been impossible for me to make her understand that I was not nimble in violent readjustments; so I held my peace.
“She was Beela the girl all the time,” Lentala insisted. “It couldn’t have been anything but the girl in her that you cared for.” She did not know in the least that she was talking to the wind.
“Of course,” agreed I, very uncomfortable.
My tone made her turn impatiently away. With much spirit she went on as with ease and softness she paced the floor:
“After all she has done, too! I don’t see———”
“Lentala!” I interrupted; “don’t misunderstand. I do like——”
“No, you don’t!” Her voice was growing unsteady. “My poor little Beela! I know she’s a madcap, but she is good, she is kind. She had to be a boy. I made her be one. She couldn’t have done what she did——”
“Lentala, please——”
“——-unless she was a boy. And now she is shamed and humiliated! Don’t let my sweet sister ever know that. It would break her heart. Poor little Beela!”
“This is all wrong. I——”