That's why I came over here--I wanted to square things with you before I leave.

I reckon if I'd stay here you'd never know how I feel about it." She was staring at the floor, her face crimson, an emotion of deep gratitude and satisfaction filling her, though mingled with it was a queer sensation of regret.

Her judgment of him had been vindicated; she had known all along that this moment would come, but, now that it had come, it was not as she had pictured it--there was discord where there should be harmony; something was lacking to make the situation perfect--he was going away.
She stood nervously tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe, hardly hearing his last words, almost forgetting that he was in the room until she saw his hand extended toward her.

Then she looked up at him.
There was a grave smile on his face.
"I reckon you'll shake hands with me," he said, "just to show that you ain't holdin' much against me.

Well, that right," he said when she hesitated; "I don't deserve it." Her hand went out; he looked at it, with a start, and then seized it quickly in both of his, squeezed it hard, his eyes aflame.