“What?” he asked.
“Why, my asking you to walk home with me, after—after our trouble. It is strange, I suppose, particularly as you had not spoken before this whole evening.”
“I—spoken to YOU? Why, you bowed to me when I came into the room and that was the only sign of recognition you gave me until just now. Not a dance—not one.”
“Did you expect me to look you up and beg you to dance with me?”
“Did you expect me to trot at that fellow's heels and wait my chance to get a word with you, to take what he left? I should say not! By George, Helen, I—”
She interrupted him. “Hush, hush!” she pleaded. “This is all so silly, so childish. And we mustn't quarrel any more. I have made up my mind to that. We mustn't.”
“Humph! All right, I had no thought of quarreling in the beginning. But there are some things a self-respecting chap can't stand. I have SOME pride, I hope.”
She caught her breath quickly. “Do you think,” she asked, “that it was no sacrifice to my pride to beg you to walk home with me? After—after the things you said the other evening? Oh, Albert, how could you say them!”
“Well—” he hesitated, and then added, “I told you I was sorry.”
“Yes, but you weren't really sorry. You must have believed the things that hateful Issachar Price said or you wouldn't have repeated them. . . . Oh, but never mind that now, I didn't mean to speak of it at all. I asked you to walk home with me because I wanted to make up our quarrel. Yes, that was it. I didn't want to go away and feel that you and I were not as good friends as ever. So, you see, I put all MY pride to one side—and asked.”