“So it ought,” said Miss Davis, who now understood the whole thing.  “She would not tell for fear of getting you blamed.”

“And I called her a tell-tale before,” said Mark, “because she told you about the trick.  I’ve been punishing her for weeks about that.  Miss Davis, can’t I go in and see her and beg her pardon?”

“Certainly,” said Miss Davis; “she is sitting at the fire, and her eyes are red with crying.  Come in with me and we will try to make her happy again.”

“Why, Hetty, you do look miserable!” cried Mark, coming into the room and looking ruefully at her pale cheeks and the black shadows round her eyes.  “And to think of you never telling after all I made you suffer!”

“I wanted to show you that I am not a tell-tale, Mark; but oh, I am so glad you have come.  I thought you were never going to be friends with me again.”

“I was away four days,” said Mark; “and of course I thought you knew.  But Hetty, you are a jolly queer girl I can tell you, and I can’t half understand you.  Think of anyone standing two hours to be pierced through and through with cold, rather than drop a fellow’s string and run away!”

Hetty looked at him wistfully, recognizing the truth that he never could understand the sort of feeling that led her into making, as he considered, such a fool of herself.  Miss Davis gazed at her kindly and pityingly, thinking of how many hard blows she would get in the future, in return for acts like that which had so puzzled Mark.  And she resolved that another time she would be slow in blaming any eccentric conduct in Hetty, and would wait till she could get at the motive which inspired it.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CHILDREN’S DANCE.

One day during these Christmas holidays a lady came to visit at Wavertree Hall, bringing her two little girls.  Phyllis and Nell had gone with Miss Davis to see some other young friends in the neighbourhood, and Hetty, who was spending one of her lonely afternoons in the school-room with her books and work, was sent for to take the little visitors for a walk in the grounds, while their mother had tea with Mrs. Enderby.

Hetty was pleased at being wanted, and soon felt at home with the strange little girls, who at once took a great fancy to her.  Seeing she could give pleasure her spirits rose high, and she became exceedingly merry, and said some very amusing things.

“I think,” said Edith, the elder of the young visitors, “that you must be the girl who told such funny stories one evening when mamma dined here.  She said it was as good as going to the theatre.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Hetty; “I am not funny now.  At least, very seldom.”

“I think you are funny to-day,” said Grace, the second sister; “I wish you would come to our house and act for us, as you did then.”

“I don’t go to houses,” said Hetty, shaking her head; “I belonged to Mrs. Rushton then, and she meant me to be a lady.  But now she is dead, and it is settled that I am not to be a lady when I am grown up.  I am only to be a governess, and work for myself.”