Hilma, a swift, pink flush deepening the delicate rose of her cheeks, did not reply, except by nodding her head. She flung the table-cloth out from under her arms across the table, spreading it smooth, with quick little caresses of her hands. There was a moment's silence. Then Annixter said:
“Here's a letter for you.” He laid it down on the table near her, and Hilma picked it up. “And see here, Miss Hilma,” Annixter continued, “about that—this morning—I suppose you think I am a first-class mucker. If it will do any good to apologise, why, I will. I want to be friends with you. I made a bad mistake, and started in the wrong way. I don't know much about women people. I want you to forget about that—this morning, and not think I am a galoot and a mucker. Will you do it? Will you be friends with me?”
Hilma set the plate and coffee cup by Annixter's place before answering, and Annixter repeated his question. Then she drew a deep, quick breath, the flush in her cheeks returning.
“I think it was—it was so wrong of you,” she murmured. “Oh! you don't know how it hurt me. I cried—oh, for an hour.”
“Well, that's just it,” returned Annixter vaguely, moving his head uneasily. “I didn't know what kind of a girl you were—I mean, I made a mistake. I thought it didn't make much difference. I thought all feemales were about alike.”
“I hope you know now,” murmured Hilma ruefully. “I've paid enough to have you find out. I cried—you don't know. Why, it hurt me worse than anything I can remember. I hope you know now.” “Well, I do know now,” he exclaimed.
“It wasn't so much that you tried to do—what you did,” answered Hilma, the single deep swell from her waist to her throat rising and falling in her emotion. “It was that you thought that you could—that anybody could that wanted to—that I held myself so cheap. Oh!” she cried, with a sudden sobbing catch in her throat, “I never can forget it, and you don't know what it means to a girl.”
“Well, that's just what I do want,” he repeated. “I want you to forget it and have us be good friends.”
In his embarrassment, Annixter could think of no other words. He kept reiterating again and again during the pauses of the conversation:
“I want you to forget it. Will you? Will you forget it—that—this morning, and have us be good friends?”