"Yes, you did—up on the hill. Don't you remember?"
"I—I wasn't telling the truth," she confessed. "I've—I've always——"
"Rosemary!"
She looked at him with brimming eyes. "What you've done, or what you may do, doesn't make any difference. It never could. If—if it depends at all on—on the other person, I don't think—it's love."
Her Very Own
In an instant his arms were around her, and she was crying happily upon his shoulder. "Dear, my dear! And you cared all the time?"
"All the time," she sobbed.
"What a brute I was! How I must have hurt you!"
"You couldn't help it. You didn't mean to hurt me."
"No, of course not, but, none the less I did it. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it, dear, if you'll let me."