Beast that he was--brute beast to have hurt her so! That piteous sobbing
was more than he could bear.

Suddenly he turned back to her, came and stood beside her. "Puck--Puck,
child!" he said.

His voice was soft and very urgent. He touched the bent, dark head with
a hesitating caress.

She started away from him with a gasp of dismay; but he checked her.

"No, don't!" he said. "It's all right, dear. I'm not such a brute as I
seem. Don't be afraid of me!"

There was more of pleading in his voice than he knew. She raised her
head suddenly, and looked at him as if puzzled.

He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her wet cheeks with clumsy
tenderness. "It's all right," he said again. "Don't cry! I hate to see
you cry."

She gazed at him, still doubtful, still sobbing a little. "Oh,
Billikins!" she said, tremulously, "why did you?"

"I don't know," he said. "I was mad. It was your own fault, in a way.
You don't seem to realize that I'm as human as the rest of the world.
But I don't defend myself. I was an infernal brute to let myself go like
that."

"Oh, no, you weren't, Billikins!" Quite unexpectedly she answered him.