Her breast began to heave again. "You said you had forgiven me," she said.
"Oh, don't let's begin that again," said Jack with a dismayed look. "I haven't anything to forgive you. If you want to make things really all right, you can do it in a minute!"
She sprang up again. "I won't! I won't!" she cried passionately. "It's her coming that has made the difference since last night! How dare you suggest that I apologize to her! I'd die rather! I hate you! Don't ever speak to me again!"
Of a sudden she was gone like a little tempest among the trees. Jack sat down on the trunk he had cut, and rested his chin in his palms, terribly troubled in his mind. This sort of thing was new to him, and it seemed of much greater moment than it was.
Pretty soon she came flying back again, and casting herself in his arms, clung to him like a baby, weeping and whimpering.
"Take care of me, Jack! I don't know what I'm doing or saying!"
His arms closed about her, and he patted her shoulder with an absurd, sheepish, paternal air of concern. What else could he do? "There, it's all right!" he said clumsily. "Don't distress yourself. It'll be all right!"
"And you won't make me apologize to her?" she implored.
"No," he said with a shrug. "I don't suppose it would do any good if you did."
Linda lay perfectly still. A sense of sweet satisfaction stole into her breast. It had been a hard fight, but she had made him do what she wanted.