But I would not commit myself.
"Silver Heels," I said, "does it not seem good to be together again here in the sunshine?"
"Ah, yes!" she cried, impetuously, then stopped.
Doubtless she was thinking of the gentleman-god.
I sat down on the grass beside her and began pulling buttercups. One I held under her white chin to see if she still loved butter.
"I love all that I ever loved," she said, leaning forward over her knees to pluck a tiny blue bud in the grass.
"Do you remember that day you bit me in the school-room?" I asked, with youthful brutality.
The crimson flooded her temples. She involuntarily glanced at my left hand; the scar was still there, and she covered her eyes tightly with her hands.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she murmured, in horror. "What a savage I was! No wonder you hated me—"
"Only at moments," I said, magnanimously; "I always liked you, Silver Heels."