“Well—I forgive you,” she hazarded.
“That will do for a starter,” he answered. “But that's not IT.”
“Then, I don't know what.”
“Shall I say it for you?”
She hesitated a long minute, then:
“You mightn't say it right,” she replied.
“Trust me for that. Shall I say it for you, Hilma?”
“I don't know what you'll say.”
“I'll say what you are thinking of. Shall I say it?”
There was a very long pause. A goldfish rose to the surface of the little pond, with a sharp, rippling sound. The fog drifted overhead. There was nobody about.