Her shame was indeed so genuine that she met Ted, for the first time after he had shown her failing to her, with deep reluctance. He must have been thinking of her awful tendency ever since they had parted—as she had been. And he could not possibly respect her! But to her amazement, he greeted her with his usual manner of untroubled good fellowship. Clearly, she had not sunk in his estimation. She was astounded, and shocked at him as well as at herself, until it occurred to her that he might have forgotten the matter altogether. This was incredible, but more honorably incredible than that he should remember and not care. And if it were the case, she must not take advantage of his forgetfulness; she must not unfairly keep his esteem.
"Ted," she said, with an effort worthy of a more saintly confessor, "Ted, I reckon I ought to remind you about the way I acted with Lisbeth."
"What about it? Did your grandmother scold you much?"
"Why, no. Don't you understand what I mean?" It was too painful to put her sin into words.
"Has Lisbeth been after you again?" But the question was obviously not one of sympathy, for Ted's voice was sharp now. At the mention of Lisbeth he had recalled his grievance.
"No," repeated Sheila. "I meant I ought to remind you about—me."
And as Ted stared at her with no gleam of comprehension in his eyes, she was forced to become explicit: "I mean—the way I let Lisbeth believe what wasn't so."
Ted looked at her speculatively for a moment, wondering if he had better rebuke her again for her folly, so that she should not commit it a second time. She would be capable of doing the whole thing over, under the impression that she was benefiting Lisbeth. She was so queer!
"You were very silly," he said finally.
"I was wicked!" she exclaimed in a fervor of repentance.