Jeff hesitated, and then said: “Well, not yet, mother,” and he bent an entreating look upon Cynthia which she could not feel was wholly for himself. “I—I guess we can fix it, somehow. I behaved very badly to Cynthia.”
“No, not to me!” the girl protested in an indignant burst.
“Not to that little scalawag, then!” cried Jeff. “If the wrong wasn't to you, there wasn't any wrong.”
“It was to you!” Cynthia retorted.
“Oh, I guess I can stand it,” said Jeff, and his smile now came to his lips and eyes.
His mother had followed their quick parley with eager looks, as if she were trying to keep her intelligence to its work concerning them. The effort seemed to exhaust her, and when she spoke again her words were so indistinct that even Cynthia could not understand them till she had repeated them several times.
Then the girl was silent, while the invalid kept an eager look upon her. She seemed to understand that Cynthia did not mean to speak; and the tears came into her eyes.
“Do you want me to know what she said?” asked Jeff, respectfully, reverently almost.
Cynthia said, gently: “She says that then you must show you didn't mean any harm to me, and that you cared for me, all through, and you didn't care for anybody else.”
“Thank you,” said Jeff, and he turned to his mother. “I'll do everything I can to make Cynthy believe that, mother.”