He bent down a little . His sleeve brushed against her shoulder . Something in his face arrested the answer she meant to make . `` I -- I -- did not say that , '' she murmured faintly . There was a burst of cheering . The free-for-all horses were being brought out for the sixth heat . She turned away to watch them . The scoring began , and seemed likely to have no end . She was tired of it all . It did n't matter a pin to her whether `` Lu-Lu '' or `` Mascot '' won . What did matter ! Had Vanity Fair after all been a satisfying exchange for love ? He had loved her once , and they had been happy at first . She had never before said , even in her own heart : `` I am sorry , '' but -- suddenly , she felt his hand on her shoulder , and looked up . Their eyes met . He stooped and said almost in a whisper : `` Will you come back to me ? '' `` I do n't know , '' she whispered breathlessly , as one half-fascinated . `` We were both to blame -- but I the most . I was too hard on you -- I ought to have made more allowance . We are wiser now both of us .
Come back XXXXX me -- my wife . ''
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