She sat down at the table, and took a sheet of notepaper and began to write a few conciliatory words. She was so occupied in making these kind enough, and not too kind, that a light step approached her unobserved. She looked up and there was Edouard. She whipped the paper off the table.
A look of suspicion and misery crossed Edouard’s face.
Rose caught it, and said, “Well, am I to be affronted any more?”
“No, Rose. I came back to beg you to forget what passed just now,” said he.
Rose’s eye flashed; his return showed her her power. She abused it directly.
“How can I forget it if you come reminding me?”
“Dear Rose, now don’t be so unkind, so cruel—I have not come back to tease you, sweet one. I come to know what I can do to please you; to make you love me again?” and he was about to kneel graciously on one knee.
“I’ll tell you. Don’t come near me for a month.”
Edouard started up, white as ashes with mortification and wounded love.
“This is how you treat me for humbling myself, when it is you that ought to ask forgiveness.”