"I didn't hear you." Bee raised her head, and looked at him dully.
"You didn't think that I would ever come over to see you again, did you?" asked the Prodigy seating himself beside her with easy grace.
"I did not think anything about it," replied the girl shortly.
"You are cross," exclaimed Percival in aggrieved tones. "If you are not mad, I don't see why you should be cross to me. Aren't you mad?"
"No, no," returned Bee impatiently. "See here, Percival! I am in trouble. Won't you go away, and not bother me?"
"Of course, if I bother you, I'll go," he said with dignity. "If you are in trouble you ought not to be left alone. Thinking is bad, my mother says. Where is your father?"
"He has gone away," replied Bee briefly. "He won't be back until tonight."
"Then I am not going," declared Percival firmly. "That is, not unless you will go with me. Why can't you come over and stay with mamma and me, Beatrice?"
"I don't want to," said Bee miserably. "I just want to be left alone."
"That is what I'm not going to do," declared the boy obstinately. "You ought not to be, you know. I'll tell you what: come over, and let me play to you. That will drive all your troubles away."
"If I go over for a little while to listen to you, will you let me come home alone? I don't wish to be rude, Percival, but I am very unhappy."
"If you will come over for a time you may do anything you please," said the lad earnestly. "I am sorry if I seem to bother, but when I am troubled music puts everything all right. It's the same with mamma, and with old Heinrich, and with lots of people. I just believe that it will help you too, or I should not insist. Now, come, Butterfly."
"You are very nice to me, Percival," said Beatrice, touched. "Nicer than you ought to be, because I have not been good to you this morning. But I just can't be pleasant to any one."
"I know." The boy nodded his head sagaciously. "I feel that way too, sometimes."
"And, Percival, you must not call me Butterfly. Butterflies are pretty and only good-looking people should be called so. I have a cousin who is very beautiful. We always called her that, but they call me Bee."
"And bees make honey, don't they? I like honey, and I like bees. I think I like them better than I do butterflies. They have a sting, too, don't they?"