giving back; and I
should be so unhappy, thinking of the debt of it always. Do tell me if
you put those stockings there?"

"No"; he looked at her, and the trivial lie faltered and died away; the
eyes, clear as crystal, questioned him so innocently. "Well, if I did?"
he said, frankly; "you wished for them; what harm was there? Will you be
so cruel as to refuse them from me?"

The tears sprang into Bebee's eyes. She was sorry to lose the beautiful
box, but more sorry he had lied to her.

"It was very kind and good," she said, regretfully. "But I cannot think
why you should have done it, as you had never known me at all. And,
indeed, I could not take them, because Antoine would not let me if he
were alive; and if I gave you a flower every day all the year round I
should not pay you the worth of them, it would be quite impossible; and
why should you tell me falsehoods about such a thing? A falsehood is
never a thing for a man."

She shut the box and pushed it towards him, and turned to the selling of
her bouquets. Her voice shook a little as she tied up a bunch of
mignonette and told the price of it.

Those beautiful stockings! why had she ever seen them, and why had he
told her a lie?

It made her heart heavy. For the first time in her brief life the
Broodhuis seemed to frown between her and the sun.

Undisturbed, he painted on and did not look at her.

The day was nearly done. The people began to scatter. The shadows grew
very long. He painted, not glancing once elsewhere than at his study.
Bebee's baskets were quite empty.

She rose, and lingered, and regarded him wistfully: he was angered;
perhaps she had been rude? Her little heart failed her.

If he would only look up!

But he did not look up; he kept his handsome dark face studiously over
the canvas of the Broodhuis. She would have seen a smile in his eyes if
he had lifted them; but he never raised his lids.

Bebee hesitated: take the stockings she would not; but perhaps she had
refused them too roughly. She wished so that he would look up and save
her speaking first; but he knew what he was about too warily and well to
help her thus.

She waited awhile, then took one little red moss-rosebud that she had
saved all day in a corner of her basket, and held it out to him frankly,
shyly, as a peace offering.

"Was I rude? I did not mean to be. But I cannot take the stockings; and
why did you tell me that falsehood?"

He took the rosebud and rose too,