With a violent reaction of remorse, and a sort of tenderness, he tried to put his arm round her. She moved away.
'Don't you forgive me, Edith, for anything I've done that you don't like?'
'Yes, I entirely forgive you. The incident is closed.'
'Really forgive me?'
'Absolutely. And I've had a tiring day and I'm going to sleep. Good night.'
With a kind little nod she left him standing in the middle of the room with that air of stupid distinction that he generally assumed when in a lift with other people, and that came to his rescue at awkward moments—a dull, aloof, rather haughty expression. But it was no use to him now.
He had considerable difficulty in refraining from venting his temper on the poor, dumb furniture; in fact, he did give a kick to a pretty little writing-table. It made no sound, but its curved shoulder looked resentful.
'What a day!' said Bruce to himself.
He went to his room, pouting like Archie. But he knew he had got off cheaply.