"I suppose Miss Chamberlain has been made aware of the state of affairs and is trying to give you a chance to apologize," she remarked. "And I take the chance.--I apologize, Stephanie! most sincerely and humbly apologize." "For what?" "For anything I did or said that I shouldn't." "That you shouldn't," she repeated.--"Who is to be the judge of what you _shouldn't_ have done or said? That was just the point on which we split--you thought you should and I thought you shouldn't." "I am willing to let _you_ be the judge," he replied. "Then you confess that you went beyond all bounds?" "I will." "And were arbitrary and dictatorial?" "I will." "And unkind in your inferences and conclusions?" "Even that I will confess.--You know that I had no intention of being either unkind, nor arbitrary, nor dictatorial." "I know only what you said at the time, Mr. Pendleton; from it there was no other conclusion to draw. However, it won't profit us to discuss it now--you've apologized; I accept the apology on the condition that you don't offend again." "But I'm going to offend again. At least, I'm going to speak frankly about a matter, in the hope that you'll not be offended--but that if you are offended you'll be warned nevertheless--and heed the warning. Shall I proceed?" "You may use your own judgment," she returned. "First, I want to ask if you received my letter, written from Boston the day after our--quarrel?" "I did not." The servant came with the tea and toast, and placed them on the table. "How many lumps, Mrs. Lorraine?" the man asked, sugar tongs poised. "I'll serve it--you may go!" said Stephanie. Then she looked at Pendleton. "Did you write me a letter?" "I most assuredly did!" he replied. "Do you care to tell me what was in it?" "It was mainly an apology for what had occurred the previous evening." "What else was in it?" He smiled--"Nothing much--just a word or two of--regard." She poured the tea, and broke off a bit of toast. "I think," she remarked, examining the toast critically, yet watching Pendleton the while furtively from under the long lashes, "I think that letter alters the proposition somewhat. You did the decent thing promptly--and I'm sorry I didn't know it. I too said things that I didn't mean--and if you'll forgive _me_, Montague," holding out her hand to him, with a bewitching smile, "we will start afresh." "If I'll forgive you, sweetheart!" he exclaimed. She withdrew her hand and held up a warning finger--though the smile still lingered undimmed--then she nodded ever so slightly. "My dear Stephanie, I'll forgive _you_ anything when you look at me like that!" he breathed. "I'm always ready to look at you like that, if you won't find fault with me when I've been abominable," she whispered.--"No, stay where you are--you forget we're on the Club-house piazza." He made a motion of resignation and sank back in his chair.