I didn’t yield to her at all
Holcroft came and sat on the steps below her. She kept her eyes on the landscape, for she was consciously enough on her guard now. "I rather guess you think, Alida, that you are looking at a better picture than any artist fellow could paint?" he remarked.
"Yes," she replied hesitatingly, "and the picture seems all the more lovely and full of light because the background is so very dark. I’ve been thinking of what happened here last night and what might have happened, and how I felt then."
"You feel better–different now, don’t you? You certainly look so."
"Yes!–You made me very happy by yielding to Mrs. Weeks."
"Oh! I didn’t yield to her at all."
"Very well, have it your own way, then."
"I think you had it your way."
"Are you sorry?"
"Do I look so? How did you know I’d be happier if I gave in?"
"Because, as you say, I’m getting better acquainted with you. YOU couldn’t help being happier for a generous act."
"I wouldn’t have done it, though, if it hadn’t been for you."
"I’m not so sure about that."
"I am. You’re coming to make me feel confoundedly uncomfortable in my heathenish life."
"I wish I could."
"I never had such a sermon in my life as you gave me this morning. A Christian act like yours is worth a year of religious talk."
She looked at him wistfully for a moment and then asked, a little abruptly, "Mr. Holcroft, have you truly forgiven that Weeks family?"
"Oh, yes! I suppose so. I’ve forgiven the old lady, anyhow. I’ve shaken hands with her."
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