He really meant it; her distress distressed him. The more she saw that the more tears she shed. Artful little crocodile!
"You w-won't f-f-forgive me!"
She knew all the time that he would.
"Pray, Mrs.—you—I—I—have nothing to forgive. But if you think I have, I forgive you freely, fully."
The road was getting smooth, she thought, but it was not safe to drop the handkerchief yet; plainly that was a strong weapon.
"You m-m-must think me such an awful b-b-brute!"
Wretched little prevaricator! She knew quite well that he thought nothing of the kind.
"Believe me, I can never think of you in any way but the kindliest."
True; every word of it. His heart was like a photographic plate, capable only of bearing one clear picture.
"I d-daresay you wish me dead, or at the bottom of the s-sea—and I d-deserve it."