"Yes."
"But he has so many big houses. And this is his play-house. It belonged to his grandfather, and that ship up there is one on which our Sally was the figure-head."
He forced himself to listen while she told him something of the history of the old ship. He knew that she was making conversation, that there were things more important to speak of, and that she knew it. Yet she was putting off the moment when they must speak.
There came a pause, however. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "let's talk about ourselves, I have been here five days, Becky—waiting——"
"Waiting? For what?"
"To ask you to—forgive me."
Her steady glance met his. "If I say that I forgive you, will that be—enough?"
"You know it will not," his sparkling eyes challenged her. "Not if you say it coldly——"
"How else can I say it?"
"As if—oh, Becky, don't keep me at long distance—like this. Don't tell me that you are en