"I guess I'm competent to entertain his mother for a few minutes," suggested Dad. "She's a very pleasant-looking lady."
I would have stopped him if I could; but when I saw he was determined, I just shut my lips tight, and let him go. What I meant to do was to whisk out as soon as his back was turned, so that when Mr. Winston should come, he would find me gone. There was no danger he wouldn't understand why; and a decided action like that on my part would settle everything for the future.
But as I got to the door I saw him, not six feet distant. He must either have been on the way to the summer-house when Dad left me, or else he'd been waiting close by. Anyhow, evidently he and Dad couldn't have said two words to each other; there hadn't been time; and there was Dad marching off as if to find and "entertain" Lady Brighthelmston. I should almost have had to push past Mr. Winston, if I'd persisted in escaping, which would have looked childish, so quickly I resolved to stand my ground-in the summer-house-and face it out. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly think, and I had to tell myself crossly, with a sort of mental shake, that after all he was the guilty one, not I, before I could catch at even a decent amount of savoir faire.
Naturally, as it was the only thing to be said, his lips asked the same question his eyes had asked before. "Can you forgive me?"
I always thought Brown's voice one of the nicest things about him, unless perhaps his eyes; and both were at their very nicest now. I hadn't realized, till he came to me, how much I should want to forgive him. I did want to, awfully, but I felt it would never do; and I think I must have been commendably dignified as I answered: "The hardest possible thing for a woman to forgive a man is making her ridiculous."
"But then," he cut in, quite boldly, "I don't ask you to forgive me for a sin I haven't committed, only for those I have."
"You have made me ridiculous," I insisted.
"I fancied it was myself; but I didn't mind that, or anything else which gave me a chance of being near you, even under false pretences. It is for deceiving you that I ask to be forgiven. I lived a good many lies as Brown, but honestly, I believe I never told one. Do forgive me. I shan't be able to bear my life if you don't."
"I can't forgive you," I said again.
"Then punish me first and forgive me afterwards-very soon. I deserve that you should do both."