"I suppose she had engagements—or something."
"She did have engagements—but she could have put them off."
"Only she didn't care to. I see."
She allowed him time to accept this fact before going on.
"Her return to Lenox," she said then, "wasn't because of her engagements."
"Then it must have been because of me. Didn't she want to see me?"
"She didn't want to tell you what she felt she would have to say."
"Oh! So that was it."
He continued to sit looking at her with an expression of interrogation, though it was evident from his eyes that his questions had been answered. They sat in the same relative positions as on the night of their last long talk together, he in his big arm-chair, she in her low one. It struck her as strange—while he stared at her with that gaze of inquiry from which the inquiry was gone—that she, who meant so little to his inner life, should be called on again to live through with him minutes that must forever remain memorable in his existence.
"Poor little thing! So she funked telling me."