"That's me," I said eagerly.
"I owe you an apology," he went on.
"You do?"
He nodded. "I'd forgotten," he confessed, ashamed. "I didn't remember
until just this minute that you were the one I talked to in my senior
year. My only confidant. And you've kept my secret all this time."
I coughed. "It was nothing," I said largely. "Don't give it a
thought."
He nodded in appreciation. "That's just like you," he reminisced. "Ten
years, eh? And you haven't breathed a word, have you?"
"Not a word," I assured him. And it was no more than the truth. I
hadn't said a word to anybody. I hadn't even said a word to myself.
The fact of the matter was, I had completely forgotten what he was
talking about. Kept his secret? I didn't even _remember_ his secret.
And it was driving me nuts!
"I was sure of you," he said, suddenly thawing. "I knew I could trust
you. I must have--otherwise I certainly wouldn't have told you, would
I?"