"You're not going to forgive me—is that it?" she asked blankly.
She moved away from him; she stood just in front of him, looking into his face with the witching eyes he knew so well.
He would not look at her; he stared steadily over her head at the door beyond; he tried to laugh.
"It's not a question of forgiveness—is it?" he asked jerkily.
"You—you chucked me up. You—you told me a lie to get rid of me.
It—it isn't a question of forgiveness, do you think?"
She looked nonplussed, then she smiled. She took Jimmy's face between her hands, holding it so that he was forced to meet her eyes; she stood on tiptoe and softly kissed his chin.
"I'm sorry," she said, and now there was a very genuine ring of earnestness in her voice. "I'm more sorry than I can ever say. Forgive me, Jimmy; I've been punished enough. I—oh, if you knew how miserable I've been."
Jimmy stood like a man turned to stone; he stared at her with a sort of dread in his eyes. There were tears in hers; one big tear fell from her long lashes, and splashed down on to the lilies she wore.
After a moment he spoke with difficulty.
"Are you . . . what are you trying to say to me?"
Her hands fell to her sides; she looked down with a touch of shame.