“No––no, not at all,” he said hurriedly. “But I suppose we ought to be moving soon....” There was a little pause. “It’s been nice seeing you again,” he added with an effort.
She sat staring down at her plate. Her pretty colour had faded; she was very pale, and she bit her lip hard to hide its trembling.
Suddenly she looked up at him.
“Micky––may I ask you a question?...”
“A hundred if you like.”
She picked up a teaspoon and twisted it nervously. Micky watched her with apprehension; he knew what was coming, and his heart sank.
If only she would be content to leave things as they were; if only she would accept the friendship he was willing to give and close the book of the past for ever.
He did not understand that it was because she cared for him so much that at the risk of losing her self-respect and pride she must ask him for the truth, must know ...
He heard her catch her breath, then suddenly she spoke:
“Micky ... why was it? What have I done?”