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, and smiled; but he did not meet her eyes.
"Let us forget the whole matter; it is not worth a sou.

If you do not take the box, leave it; it is of no use to me." "I cannot take it." She knew she was doing right.