"I'm sorry you saw me push Adam this afternoon. It was a silly thing; but he was poking fun at me, and you know how I'll respond to a challenge. Just an impulse, because I couldn't think of a sharp answer."
"Are you sorry you did it, or only sorry I saw you do it?" he asked, but did not wait for a reply. "No matter—you needn't answer. You keep so young for your age, though you always say you're old for it."
"I'm sorry. I grant it was foolish. But Winter's an old friend, and I feel as if we might almost be brother and sister sometimes. He's good to the children too."
"We'll go to bed," he said.
"Not till you've forgiven me."
"If you know you did a vulgar thing, that's to the good."
She flushed.
"I wish somebody had saved your life," she said, "then you'd find that you never can feel to that person same as you feel to other people."
"Christ's blood!" he swore, but hissed it and did not raise his voice to be heard beyond the room. "When are we going to hear the end of that?"
She was alarmed, and echoes of a similar incident, now some years old, came to her memory. She stared at him, then banished her fear, put her arms round his shoulders and kissed him.