“No, she won’t. It doesn’t in the least matter. Gracious, Dick! when I see you just like that, crawling about on your knees—”
“What?”
“I can’t help remembering—Do you remember the rainy day at Glenbruach, when you and I were playing marbles in the pistol gallery, and I said you cheated, and you said you didn’t, and I said you did, and you called me a liar?”
“And you hacked my shins?”
“Yes; and old Mrs. Johnstone, the housekeeper, came in and saw me and said I was an ‘awfu’ lassie!’ Can it be that all that really happened, and that we are the same people? Imagine me hacking your shins now! Imagine us both playing marbles on the veranda!”
“And we didn’t speak to each other for a day,” said he, following her into the house. “And you looked so stiff and sour, and all of a sudden you came up from behind and flung your arms round my neck.”
“And you shouted: ‘Oh, get away, you little brute!’”
“Yes; because I thought you were making another attack on me, and all the time you only wanted to k—”
“I didn’t. I only wanted to apologize.”
“Well, apologize, then!” said he, arranging the cushions on the floor, and placing the rose tree and the parcel containing the sword in a corner.