Edward had barely time to be reminded of an unused
well, in whose dark, shallow depths his boyish eyes had once
discovered a cluster of white water-lilies, languidly opening to the
light, when the liquid eyes and lily-like face in the inner vista of
this well-like bonnet again confronted him.
"Is that the sort of person I used to be?" she queried, with the
incredulity one naturally feels on being presented with a slightly
exaggerated outline of one's own failings. "What pleasant memories you
must have carried away with you!"
"I did, indeed--myriads of them. Some of the pleasantest were
connected with our last dance together. Do you remember it?"
A slight warmth crept up, not into her cheeks, but into her eyes. "I
have never forgiven you for that," she said.
"And you don't deserve forgiveness," declared Rose, championing the
cause of her friend.
"Ah, well," said the culprit, "perhaps I had better wait till I
deserve it before I plead for it."
How strange and far away, almost like part of their childhood, seemed
the time of which he spoke. Like a painted picture, suddenly thrust
before their view, the scene came back to them.
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