"Aren't you going to say good-morning? I came on purpose to see you."
"You needn't trouble," he said and, stealing a look at her, he weakened.
"But I need." He was wavering, she knew, and her mouth and eyes promised laughter, her body seemed to sway towards him.
"I want—I want to forgive you, George."
"Well, I'm—"
"Yes, you are, no doubt, but I don't want to be, so I forgive my trespassers, and I've come to make friends."
"You've said that before."
"I've always meant it. Must I hold out my arm any longer?"
"No." She was too tempting for his strength. He took her by the shoulders, looked greedily at her, saw the shrinking he had longed for and pressed his mouth on hers. She gave a cry that made a bird start from the heather, but he held her to him and felt her struggling with a force that could not last, and in a minute she dropped against him as helplessly as if she had been broken.
He turned her over on his arm. "You little devil!" he said, and kissed her lips again.