"And I have been living on you, ruining you!"
"My dear ... it is all paid for. It was paid for to-day. If ever a man was glad of his guest, I am he."
But she bent her head over the arm of the chair, sobbing silently. He saw the heave of her shoulders, and it afflicted him beyond words. But, though he longed, he dared not put out a hand to comfort her.
"You mistake—yes, you mistake.... It has been nothing.... I was only too glad," he kept stammering weakly.
She pulled herself together and sat upright. A moment her tear-stained eyes met his, then turned to the fire, which had begun to dance again on its small heap of coals.
"Now I see," said she, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair and so supporting her chin, while she stared resolutely into the blaze. She had resumed command of her voice. "Ah, pardon me, now I understand many things that puzzled me at first.... I—I am not a fool in money matters." She hesitated.
"I know you are not," he assured her gently. "And that, if you will understand, increased the small difficulty."
"Yes, I understand. But somehow—it was a long time since I had been acquainted with—with——"
"Want," he suggested. "Since you know the worst, do not hurt me more than you are obliged."
"God knows," she said, after an interval of musing, "I would hurt you last of all living men. Will you be kind to me, and trust me?"