“Undo it, if she can,� Donald replied, speaking lightly. “What is it you do when you are sewing? Pull out the wrong stitches and do it all over again, do you not?�
“I wonder if you could or would help me in the undoing.�
“Most assuredly, if I can.� Donald saw a roseate flame, deeper than that in the stove, blaze in her cheeks.
Tibby put her two hands to her forehead and shaded her eyes.
“But you don’t,� she said.
“Don’t what? I do not understand you.�
“You don’t help me.�
“But you must first tell me how.�
“O, you are bound to make me go down in the dust before you,� she said. “You will not—help me. Suppose you unravel the work, back to—to—that time—when you—asked me to be your wife,� she whispered.
“Tibby, Tibby, darling, do not jest with me!� Donald took the pink fingers in his, and the downcast eyes were uncovered save by the dark lashes. “Look at me, Tibby, and tell me—if I ask you the same question again, what will you say?�