After a few minutes he stopped and turned round.
"Where is--the dog--wasn't it a dog, you said? Where is it?" She was
white and trembling.
"There is no dog," he answered, not looking at her. "I--I saw you wanted
to get away for a minute. You will forgive me, won't you?"
Vera looked at him with a sudden earnestness. The watchfulness which had
seen her distress, the ready tact which had guessed at her desire to
escape, and had so promptly suggested the manner of it, touched her
suddenly. She put forth her hand gently and almost timidly.
"Thank you," she said, simply. "I did not imagine you were so clever--or
so kind."
The boy blushed deeply with pleasure. He did not know her trouble, but
the keen eye of love had guessed at its existence. It had been easy for
him who watched her every look, who knew every shade and every line of
her face, to tell that she was in distress, to interpret her pallor and
her trembling terror aright.
"You don't want to go back?" he asked.
"Oh, no, I cannot go back! Besides, I am tired; it is time to go home.
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