"If--if there is forgiveness needed."
"If you forgive me"--she came close to him, he felt her hand steal into his--"kiss me, Harry."
He kissed her as though she were a red-hot coal. Never did a travelled young man of the world so kiss a pretty woman yet! And when he had kissed her there was silence. Then, slipping her hand into the bosom of her dress, she drew out a locket, to which was attached a narrow black ribbon.
"Keep this in memory of a chance acquaintance. Look at it sometimes, and, in looking, think of me. And, in thinking of me, do not think of me as one who plundered you, but as one who--"
She paused. She looked down. But he was the most awkward of men. When she looked up again her face was fiery red. She drew herself away from him, and when she spoke her tone was changed.
"So, Mr Davison, you quite perceive that you owe my father nothing. You two are quits. But there is one thing you must promise me--you will not fight him."
"I do not understand."
"Oh, it is simple. He will challenge you. After what passed last night he is sure to challenge you. But, however that may be, you must say 'No.'"
"If you wish me to, I promise. But in England we don't fight duels.
"No? Not even at the 'Varsity?"