"You do forgive me—you will forgive me, won't you?" she said breathlessly.
He put an arm awkwardly round her.
"There's nothing you could do that I couldn't forgive," he said in a choked voice. "But it is my duty not to—"
She interrupted him by drawing back to look at him, but she kept his arm where it was, by her hand on his.
"Father," she said, "I've heard everything you've been saying. It's no use scolding me, because you can't possibly say anything that I haven't said to myself a thousand times. Sit down and let me tell you everything, every single thing! I did mean to come home this week, and tell you; I truly did. I wish I'd gone home before."
"Oh, Lizzie," said the old man, "how could you? How could you?"
"I didn't understand. I didn't know. I was a blind idiot. Oh, Father, you'll see how different I'll be now! Oh, if one of us had died—and I'd never known!"
"Known what, my child? Oh, thank God I have you safe! Known what?"
"Why, that you—how fond you are of me."
"You didn't know that?"