The long silence became embarrassing, but Vane did not quite know what to say, and Miss Thomas had apparently no desire to say anything. The path they were in led up to a low stone wall in a sort of clearing on the side of the hill, with a distant view of the Hudson. Vane assisted Miss Thomas over the wall, and then, getting over it himself, sat down upon it. The girl sat down beside him. Both looked at the river.
“What did you have to say to me?” said Vane, at last.
“I wished to tell you that I had forgiven your question,” Miss Thomas answered in a low, quiet voice, looking away from him across the water.
“Entirely?”
“Entirely, from the heart.”
Vane certainly did have a thrill of pleasurable excitement at this speech. It was the sort of glow, the tingling feeling about the waist he had felt when about to mount a strange horse whose temper he had not tested. He looked at the girl. She was half sitting, half leaning, against the wall. Her flowing dress had caught the sheen of the moon, and the white figure shone brightly against the dark leaves. She might have been a naiad or a wood-nymph, and yet there was a subtle feminine presence about her. With some girls you can associate on terms of fellowship, make companions of them, perhaps even sit on the fence in the moonlight and talk to them amicably, as to another man. But you could never forget that Miss Thomas was a woman.
“I was really very much hurt,” she said, “and I think you ought to have begged my pardon.”
“I did,” said Vane, “and I told you I had the best possible excuse.”
“But you never told me what the excuse was.” The young man sat on a lower stone than hers, and, as he looked up to her, the radiance fell full upon her face, and he saw the moon reflected in her eyes.
Why should he doubt this girl? Had he not been deeply in love with her? And, after all, had she not borne herself, in all their relations, as he would have wished her to, as he would have wished her to be, supposing that she cared for him? She had often been right in being offended with him, but she was too gentle to be long angry—she was lovely in forgiving. Had he not plainly let her know what should be the signal for him to declare his love? Was not this as much encouragement as any woman would give? Strangely enough, now that he was sure of her he almost doubted of himself.