He waited several minutes for her to answer, but how could she? It was a cruel strait. Her cheeks were crimson with shame.
“Then I think I have a right to be heard.”
She summoned all her reckless bravery.
“Mr. Ogden,” she began in an ironical tone; “how long do you suppose you could remember? It would be the wildest of folly to listen to you.”
“You doubt me altogether! What shall I do to convince you? Let me have that withered rose at your throat. I gave it to you this morning and it will be precious to me. How long a probation will you set me—a year? Well, when you receive this rose back some day you will know that I am of the same mind.”
He took it and dropped it into his pocket memorandum. Then they walked on in silence.
On the way the children were dispersed nearest their homes. By the Church, Fanny and Mr. Ogden came up with the last. She did not dare leave him or she would have joined her father. A kind of fascination kept her under his influence.
They paused at the gate. The others had entered.
“Do you want me to come to-morrow?” His tone was almost peremptory.
“I—no—” Hers sounded as if tears were not far off, and the long lashes shaded her eyes, but still he read the face, and read in it, furthermore, something she did not know was there.