She met him full; he started like a guilty thing.
"Are you afraid of me?" said she, sweetly.
"No, my dear, not exactly; and yet I am: afraid, or ashamed, or both."
"You need not. I said I forgive you; and you know I am not one that does things by halves."
"You are an angel!" said he, warmly; "but" (suddenly relapsing into despondency) "we shall never be happy together again."
She sighed. "Say not so. Time and sweet recollections may heal even this wound by degrees."
"God grant it," said he, despairingly.
"And, though we can't be lovers again all at once, we may be friends. To begin, tell me, what have you on your mind? Come, make a friend of me."
He looked at her in alarm.
She smiled. "Shall I guess?" said she.