"I am cruel. I am ungrateful. He has gone away broken-hearted.
And what shall I do without him?--little fool! I love him better than he
loves me. He will never forgive me. I have wounded his vanity; and they
are vainer than we are. If we meet at dinner I will be so kind to him,
he will forget it all. No! Edouard will not come to dinner. He is not a
spaniel that you can beat, and then whistle back again. Something tells
me I have lost him, and if I have, what shall I do? I will write him a
note. I will ask him to forgive me."
She sat down at the table, and took a sheet of notepaper and began to
write a few conciliatory words. She was so occupied in making these kind
enough, and not too kind, that a light step approached her unobserved.
She looked up and there was Edouard. She whipped the paper off the
table.
A look of suspicion and misery crossed Edouard's face.
Rose caught it, and said, "Well, am I to be affronted any more?"
"No, Rose. I came back to beg you to forget what passed just now," said
he.
Rose's eye flashed; his return showed her her power.
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