"Forgive me, Captain Selwyn," she said. "I am a child—a spoiled one; and I have proved it to you. Will you sit here beside me and tell me very gently what a fool I am to risk straining the friendship dearest to me in the whole world? And will you fix my penance?"
"You have fixed it yourself," he said.
"How?"
"By the challenge of your womanhood."
"I did not challenge—"
"No; you defended. You are right. The girl I cared for—the girl who was there with me on Brier Water—so many, many centuries ago—the girl who, years ago, leaned there beside me on the sun-dial—has become a memory."
"What do you mean?" she asked faintly.
"Shall I tell you?"
"Yes."
"You will not be unhappy if I tell you?"