“I hope you are ashamed,” she said, with a fine ignorance of her own share in the situation.
“I am, I am.”
He stood silent while she smoothed her hair, which had become disarranged.
“I suppose I may go a bit of the way with you,” he hazarded, when she had finished. “It’s dark, and I must see you as far as the place above the farm.”
She did not move; she was looking at him with a faint curiosity.
“I will stay a short time if you give me your word that you will not annoy me again,” she said, a little surprised at his submission.
Certainly it was a strange state of mind for such a man as Rhys Walters. But many things had cropped up in his heart, unsuspected even by himself.
“I don’t deserve it,” he said.
“I do not wish to be too hard upon you,” she replied, judicially, as she seated herself in their usual place.
Rhys’ depression was so great that Isoline soon began to get rather tired of his company, for he seemed quite incapable of entertaining her, and the little admiring speeches that had formerly fallen so glibly from his tongue would not come, charmed she never so wisely.