Then she murmured sadly--
"I did not think of offending. But you are quite right; disobedience
should never pass."
"Certainly not," I replied, with a smile she did not see. Taking both
the little hands in my left, I laid the tendril on her soft white
shoulders, but so gently that in her real distress she did not feel
the touch. "You see I can keep my word; but never let me tire you
again. My flower-bird cannot take wing if she anger me in earnest."
"Are you not angered now?" she asked, glancing up in utter surprise.
My eyes, or the sight of the leveloo, answered her; and a sweet bright
smile broke through her look of frightened, penitent submission, as
she snatched the tendril and snapped it in my hand.
"Cruel!" she said, with a pretty assumption of ill-usage, "to visit a
first fault with the whip."
"You are hard to please, bambina! I knew no better. Seriously, until I
can measure your strength more truly, never again let me feel that in
inviting your company I have turned my pleasure into your pain."
"No, indeed," she urged, once more in earnest.
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