have been very sorry ever since. Will you forgive me?”
“And sing at your concert?” said Irene sweetly and insultingly.
“If you mean,” said Rilla miserably, “that I would not be apologizing to you if it were not for the concert perhaps that is true. But it is also true that I have felt ever since it happened that I should not have said what I did and that I have been sorry for it all winter. That is all I can say. If you feel you can’t forgive me I suppose there is nothing more to be said.”
“Oh, Rilla dear, don’t snap me up like that,” pleaded Irene. “Of course I’ll forgive you—though I did feel awfully about it—how awfully I hope you’ll never know. I cried for weeks over it. And when I hadn't said or done a thing!”
Rilla choked back a retort. After all, there was no use in arguing with Irene and the Belgians were starving.
“Don’t you think you can help us with the concert,” she forced herself to say. Oh, if only Irene would stop looking at that boot! Rilla could just hear her giving Olive Kirk an account of it.
“I don’t see how I really can at the last moment like this,” protested Irene. “There isn’t time to learn anything new.”
“Oh, you have lots of lovely songs that nobody in the Glen ever heard before,” said Rilla, who knew Irene had been going to town all winter for lessons and that this was only a pretext. “They will all be new down there.”
“But I have no accompanist,” protested Irene.
