I wish you was different, sometimes."
"You do?"
"No," he said gently. "I don't wish you were different. I want to
remember you like you are."
"To _remember_ me?"
"Yes," he whispered, "to remember you."
He seemed to see regret, astonishment, questioning, gentle reproof, even
a hint of amusement in her eyes. But her expression changed instantly.
"I think you have something to remember me by; something you asked me
for once, long ago. I sent it to you. You have never spoken of
it--acknowledged it. I can't quite forgive that."
"Your glove. I know. I got it here." And he touched his breast. "I
thought you would understand."
"I do. But, Collie, a girl always likes to be told that she is
understood, even when she knows it."
"I was going to write about getting your glove, at the hospital. I guess
I was too tired."
"At the hospital?"
"Yes. Red sent it to me. Brand gave it to him to give to me--that time."
"Oh!" And Louise felt like retracting a little; but sweetly perverse,
she obeyed sheer instinct. "Collie, do you realize that I have already
asked you to dismount? Shall I have to ask you again? Do you realize
that I am standing while you are sitting your horse?"
"I am begging your pardon, Louise.
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