“You’re not angry?” he asked, changing his tone. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to leave you.”
He looked at her so earnestly and tears came to his eyes, Bertha could not help being touched.
“I’m very glad that you should stay, dear. I didn’t want you to go so soon. We’ve been such good friends.”
She passed her fingers through his curly hair and over his ears; but he started, and shivered.
“Don’t do that,” he said, pushing her hand away.
“Why not?” she cried, laughing. “Are you frightened of me?”
And caressingly she passed her hand over his ears again.
“Oh, you don’t know what pain that gives me.”
He sprang up, and to her astonishment Bertha saw that he was pale and trembling.
“I feel I shall go mad when you touch me.”