This last with an effort to master her emotion, and its effect, as she spoke sharply and quickly, was to give her time to recover herself, and the major a respite from what had threatened to be a painful scene.
“Yes, yes; a fair number,” he said, as if he were addressing one who was a comparative stranger, but towards whom he wished to behave with the greatest deference. “They are very small, though—very small; not like those they dig in France. May I send you a few, my—Miss Alleyne?”
Lucy shook her head, for her emotion mastered her this time. That alteration from what was to have been “my dear” to “Miss Alleyne” was too much for her, and she bowed hastily and hurried away.
But the major hastened after her, and overtook her in the lane.
“Miss Alleyne—Lucy,” he cried. “One moment, please.”
“Major Day!” she cried, in surprise.
“And your very good old friend, my dear. Since I saw you last I have been thinking a great deal, and many things which troubled me before we left home have gradually assumed an entirely fresh aspect. I was hasty, and, to be frank, I used to think ill of you, and my conscience is so full of reproach that I—if you’ll excuse me—I—I must beg your pardon.”
“Beg my pardon, Major Day?” said Lucy, and she turned red and white by turns as she began to tremble.
“Yes, my dear, and ask you to forgive me.”
“Forgive you, Major Day?”