This was most puzzling. Said I vaguely, “I guess we’ve both done the best we could. Do you want to tell me to-day why you sent for me? Or don’t you feel strong enough?”
“Yes—I wish to tell you to-day. But—it isn’t easy to say. I’m very proud, Godfrey—and when I’ve been in the wrong it’s hard for me to admit.”
“Oh, come now, Edna,” said I soothingly. “Let’s not rake up the past. It’s finished—and it has left no hard feeling—at least not in me. Don’t think of anything but of getting well.”
She lay gazing out into the gentle rain with the sunshine glistening upon it. A few large tears rolled down her cheeks.
“There’s nothing to be unhappy about,” said I. “You are far on the way to health. You are as lovely as ever. And you will get everything you want.”
“Oh, it’s so hard to tell you!” she sighed.
“Then don’t,” I urged. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know. I’ll be glad to do it.”
She covered her eyes with her thin, beautiful hand. “Love me—love me, Godfrey—as you used to,” she sobbed.
I was dumbfounded. It seemed to me I could not have heard aright. I stared at her until she lowered her hand and looked at me. Then I hastily glanced away.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted,” she went on. “I want you to take me back. That was why I sent for you.”