“So you still think of me sometimes, Elfie?”
She glanced up at him, frowning.
“Why did you go away without saying good-by to me last month?” she asked, with her old air of severity.
“I didn’t want to bother you. I knew you didn’t care.” Beneath the rigid inquisition of her gaze, Stephen stumbled over his words.
“You thought I didn’t care!” She turned her eyes away from him, and twisted the bracelet upon her wrist. “Do you care?” she asked, abruptly.
“Elfrida, you know why I had to come back. You know that I care about nothing else in the world but just you—dear, dearest little Elfie!”
She stepped back. “And yet,” she said, with a catch in her voice, “you went away and left me.”
“But, Elfie dear, what else could I do? After you had laughed at me, after you had refused to let me touch as much as your book when you dropped it here on the beach!”
She began to laugh brokenly. “Don’t you understand?” she said, softly. “I wasn’t going to let you know how silly I was. I couldn’t let you see that I had sent for the book for myself—just because I wanted to read again the story that you had told to me.”
“Elfie! My own dear Elfie!”