He had never seen in her eyes so much of genuine impulse toward him, and, suddenly recalled, in this moment of exhilaration, to the personal self, he was thrilled with a strange thrill at what he saw.
"You remember," he said, with a certain new boldness, "how impudent you used to be to me, and how furious I was when you told me I was not awake."
"I remember."
"Now I understand what you meant," he said, "but then I didn't."
She rose to order tea, and then turned impulsively, smiling up to him.
"I think—I'm sure I felt it would come to you; only I was a little impatient."
And with a happy look she offered him her hand.
"I'm very glad to be your friend," she said, to make amends; "and I hope you'll come and talk over with me all that you are thinking. Will you?"
He did not answer. At the touch of her hand, which he held in his, at the new sound in her voice, suddenly something surged up in him, something blinding, intoxicating, that left him hot and cold, rash and silent. She tried to release her hand, but his grip was not to be denied.
Then, seeing him standing head down boyishly unable to speak or act, she understood.