"'What's that, my dear?' I asked.
"'Well, I don't doubt but what I have done wrong things already, without suspecting it. Oh, yes, I've been too sure of myself!'
"'It's possible, my dear,' said I, 'but you haven't done anything that you can't still make up for, if you want.'
"'I think I know what you mean,' she said slowly; 'you mean I could go and tell him so. Tell him I had done wrong and was sorry—for I did sin, not in deed, but still in thought.... I never told him that, of course....' Then she shivered. 'Oh, but Aunt Selina, I can't do it, I can't! If you only knew how I've tried already, how I've humiliated myself!'
"'That never did any one any harm,' I told her.
"'And then,' she went on, 'even if I did do it, he'd never take me back—not on any terms! He'd only cast me away again—that's what would happen, you know! What would there be for me then but—Tommy?'
"Well, I knew I'd won a great point in making her even consider it.
"'Several things,' I answered, taking no pains to conceal my delight. 'In the first place, it's by no means certain that he will refuse you. But if he does—well, you'll never lack a home or a friend while I'm alive, my dear! And don't you go and pretend that I'm not more to you than that brainless, chinless, sniveling, driveling little fool of an Englishman, for I won't believe it!'
"She laughed at that and for a moment we both laughed together. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't do better than leave it at that, let that laugh end our talk.
"'Good night, my dear,' I said, kissing her. 'The time has come now when you've got to make up your mind for yourself. I've done all I can for you.' And with that I left her.