"Poor girl!" he said.
There was a genuine ring in his voice which irritated while it touched her. She hated to feel that he was really hurt. It made her seem the more deeply guilty, and she unconsciously desired to discover in him some excuse for her own shortcomings.
"Oh, it's over now," she responded. "Let's talk of something else."
"I'd be glad to," Stanford replied, "but I can't seem to. I want to know how you escaped. I won't ask you to tell me now, but I keep thinking about it."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. I remember a tremendous crash, and being thrown against Mr. Wynne"—
"Mr. Wynne?"
The tone showed Berenice that Stanford did not attach especial importance to the question, but asked only from a natural curiosity. Nevertheless she could not keep her voice from, hurrying a little as she answered:—
"Mr. Wynne is a young clergyman who was in the seat next to mine. He's a cousin of Mrs. Staggchase."
"Oh, a clergyman," Stanford echoed.
The tone seemed to her excited mood to be full of intolerable superiority.