“Yes, he knows,” she murmured. “He thinks you treated me very badly, Gerard.”
“I know.”
And he consents, thought the young man, to accept the plaster I placed on the bruise. He got up from the little chintz sofa of many memories.
“I wish you had waited to give Otto the last chapter of the story,” he said, very wearily. “Poor little girl, I’m not angry with you. Don’t cry. We’ve had enough of that. Good-bye, Adeline. I suppose we need hardly meet again.”
And he held out his hand.
“Gerard,” she said, taking it, “I’m so glad you’re not angry. I like you very much, but, do you know, I fancy I should be happier with him. He isn’t as good-looking as you, Gerard—not anything like—but he looks very nice.” She raised the young officer’s hand to her lips. “Thank you,” she said, “for offering to marry me.”
“Oh, no thanks,” he replied, taking his hat.
“Gerard!” she called him back, her eyes reverted swiftly from the mirror to his face. “You never said anything about my new dress which I had to make. Don’t you think it suits me?”
“Oh, everything suits you,” he cried, making his escape. There were tears in his eyes as he turned into the street.