Well, then, I had been mistaken. It was merely a slight resemblance, if it were even that. I had not thought of Hare since that evening, and when I saw this man by lantern light, as I had seen him by candles, why, I thought he seemed like Hare.... That was all.... That certainly was all there could be to it.
Near to the lilacs, where candle light fell from the south window of the little lodge, I stumbled once again upon Penelope. And she was in Spatter-dash's arms!
For a moment I stood frozen. Then a cold rage possessed me, and God knows what a fool I had played, but suddenly a far whistle sounded from the orchard; and young Spatter-dash kisses her and starts a-running through the trees.
He had not noticed me, nor discovered my presence at all; but Penelope, in his arms, had espied me over his shoulder; and I thought she seemed not only flushed but frightened, whether by the fellow's rough ardour or my sudden apparition I could not guess.
Still cold with a rage for which there was no sensible warrant, I walked slowly to where she was standing and fumbling with her lace apron, which the callow fool had torn.
"I came to say good-bye," said I in even tones.
She extended her hand; I laid grim and icy lips to it; released it.
There was a silence. Then: "I did not wish him to kiss me," said she in an odd voice, yet steady enough.
"Your lips are your own."