turned, as if to go back; then she held up her white-kerchiefed head
with gentle pride and kept on. When she came up to Thomas she walked
so far to one side that her muslin skirt was in danger of catching
and tearing on the bushes, and she never raised her eyes, and not a
flicker of recognition stirred her sweet pale face as she passed him.

But Thomas started as if she had struck him, and dropped his spray of
white flowers, and could not help a smothered cry that was half a
sob, as he went on, knocking blindly against the bushes. He went a
little way, then he stopped and looked back with his piteous hurt
eyes. And Evelina had stopped also, and she had the spray of white
flowers which he had dropped, in her hand, and her eyes met his. Then
she let the flowers fall again, and clapped both her little hands to
her face to cover it, and turned to run; but Thomas was at her side,
and he put out his hand and held her softly by her white arm.

"Oh," he panted, "I--did not mean to be--too presuming, and offend
you. I--crave your pardon--"

Evelina had recovered herself. She stood with her little hands
clasped, and her eyes cast down before him, but not a quiver stirred
her pale face, which seemed turned to marble by this last effort of
her maiden pride. "I have nothing to pardon," said she. "It was I,
whose bold behavior, unbecoming a modest and well-trained young
woman, gave rise to what seemed like presumption on your part." The
sense of justice was strong within her, but she made her speech
haughtily and primly, as if she had learned it by rote from some
maiden school-mistress, and pulled her arm away and turned to go; but
Thomas's words stopped her.