"Yes," said Meg with a soft laugh, "any way is right to-night. You're just wonderful, Jem."
Then it suddenly struck Jem that he was scarcely acting the part of protector, as he felt the cold rain beating about his face.
"I must take you home," he said with determination in his voice. "It would be poor love on my part if I let you catch cold the first time we've met. But tell me where to go."
They walked silently home after this. Meg's hand had stolen into his and he held it with a feeling of rapture. What did it mean? He was too overwhelmed to question, still more to talk of other matters. She had given him her hand. His heart beat wildly. At the door of the house in which Meg had her room, they stopped.
"Jem," said Meg.
He still had hold of her hand and did not speak.
She stood looking up into his face and could not misunderstand the love light in his eyes.
"It's just the other way," said Meg. "It's I that's not half good enough for you. I think I was mad that day, dear."
Jem let her hand fall.
"Take care what you say," he said hoarsely, "take care! If you say a word more than you mean I guess it'll drive me mad this time. I've lived through a lot since that day but I can't do so again."