"I thought I did a few minutes ago," replied she. "Now, I feel I don't. I feel I'd like to be friends with you—" Her small, sweet face lit up with a faint smile—"since we can't be enemies."
"You mean that?" he asked with an eagerness that sounded only the more eager for his effort to restrain it.
"Indeed, I do," replied she. "Will you help me with the gardening—when you have time?"
"There's nothing I'd like so well."
"Then—it's all settled?"
"Quite."
They smiled gravely; they shook hands; they laughed. "And a little while ago I was thinking I never could forgive you!" exclaimed she gayly. "Now I'm wondering what on earth there was to forgive." And she felt and looked very well acquainted with him. It was part of her upright-downright nature either to like thoroughly or to be so indifferent that she was little short of oblivious.
Before her generous friendliness the laughter died out of his face. "I'll try to be worthy of your friendship and your trust," said he gravely.
"That sounds mysterious—somehow."
"Does it? ... When may I help you?"