“I knew you were angry—and—,” he hesitated.
“Why didn’t you go away?” she said impulsively. He hung his head and was silent.
“I don’t see why—why it should make trouble between us, Lettie,” he faltered. She made a swift gesture of repulsion, whereupon, catching sight of her hand, she hid it swiftly against her skirt again.
“You make my hands—my very hands disclaim me,” she struggled to say.
He looked at her clenched fist pressed against the folds of her dress.
“But—,” he began, much troubled.
“I tell you, I can’t bear the sight of my own hands,” she said, in low, passionate tones.
“But surely, Lettie, there’s no need—if you love me——”
She seemed to wince. He waited, puzzled and miserable.
“And we’re going to be married, aren’t we?” he resumed, looking pleadingly at her.
She stirred, and exclaimed:
“Oh, why don’t you go away? What did you come back for?”
“You’ll kiss me before I go?” he asked.
She stood with averted face, and did not reply. His forehead was twitching in a puzzled frown.
“Lettie!” he said.
She did not move or answer, but remained with her face turned full away, so that he could see only the contour of her cheek. After waiting awhile, he flushed, turned swiftly and set his machine rattling. In a moment he was racing between the trees.
