At such times he never succeeded in remembering that she was but
little more than a child, heart-free, capricious, and wilful. Despairing
of changing her mood to the serious one that he loved yet so seldom
evoked, he arose and bade her good-night.
When he was in the hall she softly called him back, meeting him with a
half-penitent look in her eyes, which had suddenly become gazelle-like.
"You may preach to me again some time, John. There are moments when I
believe I like it, because no other man dares to do it" "Dares?" he
queried with a smile.
"Yes; dares. They all fear to offend. And you, John, you fear nothing!"
"Yes, I do," he answered gravely, as he looked down upon her. "There is
one thing I fear that makes me tremble, Colette."
But her mood had again changed, and with a mischievous, elusive smile
she bade him go. Inert and musing, he wandered at random through the
lights and shadows of the city streets, with a wistful look in his eyes
and just the shadow of a pang in his heart.
"She is very young," he said condoningly, answering an accusing thought.
"She has been a little spoiled, naturally. She has seen life only from
the side that amuses and entertains. Some day, when she realizes, as it
comes to us all to do, that care and sorrow bring their own sustaining
power, she will not dally among the petty things of life; the wilful
waywardness will turn to winning womanliness."
CHAPTER IV
The next afternoon when Amarilly came home from the theatre, her mother
met her with another burst of information.
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