"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you are more than rude."
"I am ashamed; forgive me."
She glanced up at him from her drooping lashes. She had pardoned him long ago.
"No," she repeated, "I cannot forgive."
"Lorraine—"
"There is the dog-cart," she whispered, almost breathlessly. So he said good-night and went away.
She stood on the dim lawn, her arms full of blossoms, listening to the sound of the wheels until they died away beyond the park gate.