"Rita, if I offended you to-night, I am sorry. I cannot tell you all the pain I feel. When you dropped the handkerchief behind me, I thought—I know I was wrong and should have known better at the time—but I thought—"
"Oh, Dic," she softly interrupted, still smoothing the grass with her foot, "I am not offended; it is you."
Had the serene yellow moon burst into a thousand blazing suns, Dic could not have been more surprised.
"Rita, do you mean it? Do you really mean it?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
"And were you afraid I was offended?"
"Yes," again very softly.
"And did you care?"
"Yes," with an emphatic nod of the head.
"And do you—" he paused, and she hesitatingly whispered:—