He raised his eyes from the carpet.
"Because I was a brute," he said briefly.
Methodically she sorted out the spoons in two little piles. Then, pushing them together into a disorderly heap, she started to her feet and faced him.
"Can't you make any sort of an excuse for yourself, Sidney?" she demanded, and there was a desperate ring to her words.
He shook his head.
"I can't see any," he replied, after an interval. Suddenly he laughed harshly. "Unless you count total depravity," he added.
She ignored the laugh.
"I suppose you know, then, what this means," she said slowly, so slowly that it seemed as if each word caught in her throat.
His face whitened and he started to speak; but his voice failed him. He bowed in silence.
"I am sorry," she went on, while the cords in her clasped hands stood out like bits of rattan; "perhaps I am more sorry than you are; but there seems to be nothing else that I can do. Last night was the tragedy of my life; to-day is the hardest, the longest day I have ever spent. But—"