Page 159 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

of childish passion struck her tormentor again and again.
‘Man!’ she cried, with flaming eyes, ‘Let me go! I hate you! I
hate you! I hate you!’
‘I am very sorry for this, Frere,’ said Vickers, when the
door was closed again. ‘I hope she did not hurt you.’
‘Not she! I like her spirit. Ha, ha! That’s the way with
women all the world over. Nothing like showing them that
they’ve got a master.’
Vickers hastened to turn the conversation, and, amid
recollections of old days, and speculations as to future
prospects, the little incident was forgotten. But when, an
hour later, Mr. Frere traversed the passage that led to his
bedroom, he found himself confronted by a little figure
wrapped in a shawl. It was his childish enemy
‘I’ve waited for you, Mr. Frere,’ said she, ‘to beg pardon. I
ought not to have struck you; I am a wicked girl. Don’t say
no, because I am; and if I don’t grow better I shall never go
to Heaven.’
Thus addressing him, the child produced a piece of paper,
folded like a letter, from beneath the shawl, and handed it
to him.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘Go back to bed, my dear; you’ll
catch cold.’
‘It’s a written apology; and I sha’n’t catch cold, because
I’ve got my stockings on. If you don’t accept it,’ she add-
ed, with an arching of the brows, ‘it is not my fault. I have
struck you, but I apologize. Being a woman, I can’t offer you
satisfaction in the usual way.’
Mr. Frere stifled the impulse to laugh, and made his

1 For the Term of His Natural Life