“He doesn’t seem anxious to talk to me,” she said. “You can come along to the next car by and by, Agatha.”
She moved away, and Agatha, who sat down opposite Sally, looked at her questioningly.
“Well?” she said.
Sally made a little deprecatory gesture. “I’ve something to say, but it’s hard. To begin with, are you very angry with me?”
“No,” answered Agatha. “I think I really am a little angry with Gregory, but not altogether because he chose you.”
Sally considered this statement for a moment or two before she looked up again.
“Well,” she confessed, “not long ago, I wanted to hate you, and I guess I ’most succeeded. It made things easier. Still, I want to say that I don’t hate you now.” She hesitated a moment. “I’d like you to forgive me.”
Agatha smiled. “I can do that willingly,” she said.
Sally was disconcerted by her quiet ease of manner and perfect candor. It was evidently not quite what she had looked for.
“Then you were never very fond of him?” she suggested.