“I told you,” she murmured remorsefully, “you’d be sorry.”
“We don’t know that yet,” said Winthrop gently, “we’ll have all the rest of our lives to find that out.”
Startled, the girl drew back. In her face was wonder, amazement, a dawning happiness.
Without speaking, Winthrop looked at her, entreatingly, pitifully, beseeching her with his eyes.
Slowly the girl bent forward and, as he threw out his arms, with a little sigh of rest and content she crept into them and pressed her face to his.