"I have forgotten."
"Are you my friend?"
She looked at him and made no reply.
"As at first, I mean to say," he corrected himself.
"Yes, as at first," she murmured thoughtfully.
Lilian kept her slender hand on the arm of the chair. He watched the old lady with the silver glasses and the old gentleman with the flowing beard. They neither turned round nor saw: they were immersed in their reading. Then he placed his hand on Lilian's. She did not withdraw it, and he gave a sigh of joy.
"You must be very indulgent and merciful to me, Miss Temple," he said, with a rather sad accent. "Sometimes I seem wicked, sometimes—far too often—I seem perverse."
She looked at him with her beautiful, candid eyes.
"It is the ancient man that arises, Miss Temple; a man who has suffered and caused suffering," he proceeded sadly. "I need kindness and pity so much to be a good, loyal man as I was once, as I should like to be again."
"Whatever are you saying?" she asked, marvelling, and a little anxiously.