to attempt to convey to Mrs. Grose, just as it is scarcely
less so to attempt to suggest here, how, in our short,
stiff brush in the dark, he fairly shook me with admiration.
I was of course thoroughly kind and merciful; never, never yet
had I placed on his little shoulders hands of such tenderness
as those with which, while I rested against the bed,
I held him there well under fire. I had no alternative but,
in form at least, to put it to him.

"You must tell me now--and all the truth. What did you go out for?
What were you doing there?"

I can still see his wonderful smile, the whites of his beautiful eyes,
and the uncovering of his little teeth shine to me in the dusk.
"If I tell you why, will you understand?" My heart,
at this, leaped into my mouth. WOULD he tell me why?
I found no sound on my lips to press it, and I was aware
of replying only with a vague, repeated, grimacing nod.
He was gentleness itself, and while I wagged my head at
him he stood there more than ever a little fairy prince.
It was his brightness indeed that gave me a respite.
Would it be so great if he were really going to tell me?
"Well," he said at last, "just exactly in order that you
should do this."

"Do what?"

"Think me--for a change--BAD!" I shall never forget the sweetness
and gaiety with which he brought out the word, nor how, on top of it,
he bent forward and kissed me. It was practically the end of everything.