But I'm afraid--' 'That now I've made such an ass of myself you'll have to go ?' She thought a moment.
'I don't know that I need say that--if--if I could be sure--' 'Of what?
Name your conditions!' His face suddenly lightened again.

And again a quick compunction struck her.
She looked at him gently.
'It's only--that I couldn't stay here--you will see of course that I couldn't--unless I were quite sure that this was dead and buried between us--that you would forget it entirely--and let me forget it!' Was it fancy, or did the long Don Quixotish countenance quiver a little?
'Very well.

I will never speak of it again.

Will that do ?' There was a long pause.

The Squire's stick attacked a root of primroses closely, prized it out of the damp ground, and left it there.