"How sorry I was."
"What for?"
"For having behaved like a—"
"You don't look very sorry."
Pip's eyes gleamed.
"No, and I'm not either," he shouted. "I'm not, I'm not! I have seen something since then that has driven all my sorriness out of my head. I came along here, fearfully glum, just to say I was sorry to have forced such a caddish scheme on you, and to ask if I might carry your clubs back to the house, and suddenly I came round the corner, and there I saw you—crying."
"And that's made you glad?" said Elsie coldly.
"Glad? I should think it did!" He stood up, and continued, "Don't you see, dear, it showed me that you cared? A girl doesn't lie sobbing on the sand if she's absolutely indifferent. Oh, I know now, right enough: half an hour ago I didn't. I came upon you then hunting for your ball and dabbing your eyes with your handkerchief; but that of course was different; I knew it wasn't the real thing. You were just tired then, and sick at losing the game; but this time"—his face glowed—"this time I knew it was the real thing, and that you cared, you really cared. Yes, you cared; you had cared all the time, and I had never known it!"
He stood over her, absolutely radiant: no one had ever seen Pip like this before. Then he dropped down on to the grass beside the girl, and put his arm inside hers.
"You do care, don't you, Elsie?" he said.