“Yes,” she answered instantly. “I didn’t believe otherwise. And you—and Phil—were right in not wanting me to ride Cardinal back. I don’t know what had gotten into me; I’m not always so mean and stubborn. And—and you—Phil says you rode breakneck down the hill after me. You might have been killed!” There was a little pause, during which Margaret continued to watch her interlacing fingers, and John, rather pale of face, looked hungrily at the rounded cheek on which the sun threw little flecks of light. “Thank you for that,” she added softly. “And forgive me for my rudeness at—at what was—I understood it afterward, you see—just a sort of joke.”
“Joke!” breathed John. He leaned forward and laid one hand over her fingers. They ceased their moving and she turned toward him with wide, startled eyes. “Margaret,” he said softly, “don’t thank me for anything, please. I don’t deserve it. I behaved like a brute! I hurt you when you were nervous, upset, after that danger. Why,” he went on with a sudden drop of his voice which trembled like the hands imprisoned under his own, “why, rather than hurt you, Margaret, I’d—I’d do anything in the world!”
She turned her face away with a slow closing of her eyes, and strove to draw her hands from beneath his.
“I—I—please——”
“And don’t forgive me because you think it was all a joke, Margaret. It wasn’t, not a bit of it, dear! I kissed your hand because—because I couldn’t help kissing the poor, bruised little thing! I said I loved you because it was God’s truth, Margaret! I do love you—then—before that—now—always! How much, how dearly, I haven’t words to say! I was mean, brutal, if you like, dear, but I wasn’t joking.”
He ended with a little break in his voice. His hand slipped away from hers.
“Now,” he added, pale and half fearful, “you may forgive me—if you can.”
For many moments Margaret sat motionless, her hands still loosely clasped, her face averted. John waited anxiously, breathing hard, possessed with an almost fierce exultation for that he had proclaimed himself her lover and that, whatever happened, no longer could she consider him as merely her brother’s friend, an acquaintance to be smiled upon politely and dismissed from her thoughts. Whether she sent him away or bade him remain, he was her lover, a factor in her life. Whether she ever cared for him or not, at least she could never forget him; as long as she lived the mention of his name must summon recollection. All this would be but poor consolation for losing her, but now, as he waited for her to speak, he found a fierce comfort in the knowledge that already it was beyond her power to put him entirely from her life.
When at length she turned her face to him it was paler than his own and the little smile that quivered about the lips was one of pain. Her eyes met his bravely, infinitely tender. John read his answer and his heart sank; but he gave back her smile.