“How can I tell whether it is what I should like to hear?” replied she, still drawing back.
“That is just what I want you to tell me; I want you to hear it and then to tell me whether you like it or not.”
“Well, you may speak,” replied she, turning her back, and beginning to plait the hem of her apron.
He came close to her ear.
“I’m sorry I hurt Willie the other night. He has forgiven me. Can you?”
“You hurt him very badly,” she replied. “But you are right to be sorry. I forgive you.”
“Stop, stop!” said he, laying his hand upon her arm. “There is something more I’ve got to say. I want you to be my—what is it they call it, Susan?”
“I don’t know,” said she, half-laughing, but trying to get away with all her might now; and she was a strong girl, but she could not manage it.
“You do. My—what is it I want you to be?”
“I tell you I don’t know, and you had best be quiet, and just let me go in, or I shall think you’re as bad now as you were last night.”