“If you’ll have me,” she said. “Do you forgive me, Bertram, for all my beastliness?”
He took her hand, and stroked the back of it with his finger-tips.
“How beautiful you are!” he said.
“Do you forgive me, dear heart?” she asked again.
“Hush,” he said. “There’s nothing to forgive. We were both kids.”
A little later he spoke again.
“I am sorry about Kenneth. Very rough on him and you.”
She bowed her head, and was very white.
“It was best like that. It has let me come back.”
“I knew a girl who died—in Russia—” said Bertram. “One day I’ll tell you. Not now. How’s England and Holme Ottery?”