She put her hands on his shoulders, her eyes filling with tears.
“Nay, now—don’t—don’t! You make me feel that bad.”
“And him so kind,” he went on, as if unable to stop. “Ay, it makes you feel bad enough to swear.”
“It’s over ... it’s by wi’ ... we’ll make it up to him, you’ll see!” He put his arms about her, and her hands went up around his neck. “You’ll not be keeping a grudge agen me all our lives?”
“Nay, it’s myself I’m sore with, not you. I should ha’ done my duty by the old chap, and trusted you’d come to me in the end. But I wasn’t for taking the risk. I was over feared. And now I doubt I’ll always feel sort o’ shamed.”
“Things’ll sort themselves out, don’t you fret. They’ll right themselves sure as a bobbin, after a bit.”
“Likely they will.”
“It’ll make a sight o’ difference, once he’s back. You’ll never think twice o’ yon weary time no more.”
“Likely I waint.”
“And you’ll not throw it up at me when you’re mad?” she begged. “You’ll not forget just how it come about?”