My cheeks and ears were very red,
and I felt very small indeed.
"Now, Regie," said my father, "I won't say what I think about your
listening to Mr. Andrewes and me, in order to find out what I did not
choose to tell you. You shall tell me what you think, my boy. Do you
think it is a nice thing, a gentlemanly thing, upright, and honest,
and worthy of Papa's only son, to sneak about listening to what you
were not meant to hear. Now don't begin to cry, Reginald," he added,
rather sharply; "you have nothing to cry for, and it's either silly or
ill-tempered to whimper because I show you that you've done wrong.
Anybody may do wrong; and if you think that you have, why say you're
sorry, like a man, and don't do so any more."
I made a strong effort to restrain my tears of shame and vexation, and
said very heartily--
"I'm very sorry, Papa. I didn't think of it's being wrong."
"I quite believe that, my boy. But you see that it's not right now,
don't you?"
"Oh yes!" I exclaimed, "and I won't listen any more, father." We made
it up lovingly, Rubens flying frantically at our heads to join in the
kisses and reconciliation. He had been anxiously watching us, being
well aware that something was amiss.
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