"A confession?"
"Yes, I want to get it over--so it won't bother me."
"Something about me?"
"Yes."
"Why, that's what I am trying so hard to make you keep your eyes on your work for--because I have to make a confession to you."
"To me?"
"Yes--don't look around, please."
"But what under the sun can you have to confess to me?"
"You started yours first," she answered. "Go on. Maybe it will make it easier for me."
Studiously keeping his eyes upon his canvas, he told her how he had watched her from the cedar thicket. When he had finished,--and she was silent,--he thought that she was angry, and turned about--expecting to see her gathering up her things to go.