“Isn’t that plenty? The biggest hours of my life—to have and remember?”
She poked her white toe into the moss, but still her eyes were on the ground.
“I feel awf’ly guilty,” she said faintly. “It’s all my fault. The whole thing is my fault. Poor George! If it hadn’t been for me he never would have met Brack, and then all this would not have happened.”
“George probably is all right by this time. He is under Dr. Olson’s care, and the doctor is one of us.”
“I’ve made him suffer terribly, haven’t I?”
“No. If he hadn’t—” I checked myself. “You haven’t made him suffer. And he’ll be a wiser man when you see him again, and you’ll both forget and be happy together.”
Betty lifted her eyes and studied me closely. Her expression was puzzling; she seemed incredulous. A quizzical smile touched her lips; she suppressed it and looked away.
“And George,” she said, as if her thoughts had wandered away from him, “I must make up for it all to him—if I can.”
“If you can! Of course you can. You will!”
Again she lifted her head and looked me squarely in the eyes. And this time when she looked away I knew that I was a fool, though I did not know just why.