Jerome did not confess it to himself, but down in the depths of his heart he knew he was doing what was base.
They went very slowly along the grassy walk, on which the dew lay like grey gossamer in the moon-rays, and for a little time neither spoke, till Jerome said softly:
‘Will you trust me to drive you another day, Miss Bolton?’
‘I? Why not?’ said Nita, faintly.
‘Will you promise to go out with me another day, that I may be sure you have forgiven me my carelessness?’
‘I—is there anything to forgive?’
‘I think so. If I had not been talking sentimental nonsense to you, you would not have forgotten to look after your horses, and then——’
‘Do not let us say any more about it,’ said she. ‘I shall never forget it to my dying day, but I hate to think of it.’
‘It has shaken you sadly; but will you go out with me another day?’
‘Oh yes! To-morrow if you like.’