Her lovely eyes were fixed earnestly on his. Fargo had slipped away.
“Nothing,” she returned hastily. “What you have done is splendid—wonderful! It’s what I did that makes me sorry. Mr. Fargo has just told me everything, and I hate myself when I think how I—liked that dreadful Mr. Elgin—and tried to make you friends, and—and—”
She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. Lefty looked around. Never before had he detested a crowd with such intensity. His eyes flashed back to hers, and something in their expression brought a vivid rush of crimson flaming to her face.
“You mustn’t think about it,” he urged softly. “You weren’t to blame, and, anyway, it’s all over now. Everything’s turned out right. Please forget it.”
His fingers tightened about hers. Her lids drooped. They had forgotten the crowd pouring out of the field. The clatter and tramp in the swiftly thinning stands, the last few cheers from the departing rooters, fell upon deaf ears. In that single moment they were conscious of nothing else in the whole wide world but just each other.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.