“Nothing but that. You come to me with the most unusual request, and I am fool enough to put myself out of the way for you. Then you expect to go away, or rather slip away, without any more words about repayment. And when you are brought back, all this squalling.” “Nice people are quite content with ‘Thank you.’” “I’m not nice, and ‘Thank you’ never appeals to me.” “But if I stay here I can do nothing.” “Yes, you can mope.” “In return for a tongue?” “Why not? It would be the height of self-sacrifice, and the perfection of thanksgiving.” Her serious eyes met his thoughtfully. “Do you really wish me to stay here?” “I not only wish, but am determined on it.” “Then my self-sacrifice can never be spontaneous.” “You mean you are changing your mind. You are wishful to stop?” “Not wishful, but if you want it, I’ll—I’ll try to settle down more cheerfully. After all, it’s only just.” “That is so.” “Shall I often see you?” “Never. I am not fond of inflictions.” He spoke so drily, and the words were so unkind, that Rosalie’s wistful face grew paler. Yet still she argued to herself it would be selfish to wish to be free, to have a tongue and everything. And after all, the stranger was so clever that he must of necessity know best. “Will you let me out just for an hour?” she asked at length, with a voice greatly subdued from the first clamorous outburst. “Not for an hour.” “But I have an aunt, and she is dead. I shouldn’t like strangers to take what once belonged to her.” “Where is your uncle?” “He is dead too.” “Your people?” “I have none.” “Where then, in the name of all the devils in Lucifram, do you intend to go to?” “I thought when people knew I had miraculously come by a tongue they would—” “Ah! I thought as much. You want to behave with all the absurdity of a hen that has laid an egg.” “Indeed!” said Rosalie, flushing. “You want to get out just to cackle.” She was silent. “You admit it?” “I admit nothing but your want of manners.” “What a waspish, vinegarish tongue yours is.” “It’s the fault of the doctor, then. If one cannot produce a sweet instrument one might as well admit oneself a failure.” “How was I to tell? Your face was so deceptive.” “Maybe so is my tongue. I was only speaking in fun. Let me out for one hour. Lend me twopence, and I will return, having spoken to no one, and in the right frame for being submissive.” For a short time he was silent. At last he said: “Promise me faithfully you will return.” “I promise you most faithfully.” “Within the hour?” “Yes.” “You understand perfectly that my reason for bringing you back is not for any personal gratification I should derive from it. It is simply so that you may not obtain any great or particular pleasure from having a prayer perfected.” “You speak plainly enough for the dullest mind.” “I’m glad. Now you may go. And remember, come back if you have any sense of gratitude.” So Rosalie passed out again into the farther hall.