A Dog with a Bad Name - Talbot Baines Reed

“Yes. You were—”

“Miserable and angry,” said she, her face kindling at the recollection.

He darted one glance at her, as brief as that he had darted on the afternoon of which they spoke.

Then, he had read nothing but despair for himself; now, though her eyes were downcast and her voice angry, he thought he read hope.

“Suppose,” said he, in a little while, “instead of running away from the path, we just walk down it together. Would you mind? Are you afraid?”

“No,” she said, smiling. And they walked on.