o
find that handkerchief which was so badly needed. She dabbed at her
eyes with it, and winked back those tears as best she could, biting her
lips fiercely to keep from sobbing outright. But there were so many
tears and they came so fast that they brimmed clear over, and some
fell, great shining drops, on the yellow chiffon of her dress. Her tiny
handkerchief was all unavailing to quench this flow, and in a very
short while it was only a small lump of wet. Her head drooped lower and
lower.

It was absolute and overwhelming humiliation.

Mr. Bennet heard a queer little sound at his side, a little sound that
she was quite unable to control, and he turned to see this weeping
Arethusa.

"Why, my dear little girl!" he exclaimed, bending over. "What on
earth!"

She managed to swallow a small portion of the lump that filled her
throat. "You.... You laughed at me!" she said brokenly. "You laughed
at me!"

So he had. But Mr. Bennet was very sure that this was not the time to
acknowledge it.

He was genuinely distressed to see her cry, but his interest was more
acute that something be done to stop it before too much attention was
accorded them. Mr. Bennet disliked very much to be made at all
conspicuous.

He slid one arm gently along the back of her seat. Arethusa was
conscious of this movement through her unhappiness, and she could not
help being thrilled at the thought of that Wonderful Arm being where it
was. Mr. Bennet, however, knew very well just how far it might go. Miss
Eliza herself thought no more of the proprieties than did Mr. Bennet.
Then he leaned protectingly close. Arethusa thrilled some more.

"Did you imagine for a moment that I was laughing at you!" And his rich
drawling voice was so convincing that she believed him immediately.
"Indeed, I was not! There was something very funny just then that you
missed. _Why_, I wouldn't laugh at _you_ for all the world!"

Arethusa smiled through her tears at him like a veritable bit of April.

"I didn't like to think you would. But.... But.... It seemed just
exactly like you were!"

"You misjudged me dreadfully!"

And this time he sounded so reproachful that she was just as ashamed of
herself for so misjudging him, as she had been humiliated the moment
before because she had thought herself the object of his mirth.

"I ... I'm sorry," she faltered. Would Mr. Bennet ever be able to
forgive such a misinterpretation of his charming laugh?

But Mr. Bennet was