"Nothing."
She continued: "He seemed constrained and distant in his manner, but I knew, that is, I thought—I mean I felt—oh, you know—he looked as if he were glad to see me and I—I, oh, God! I was so glad and happy to see him that I could hardly restrain myself to act at all maidenly. He must have heard my heart beat. I thought he was in trouble. He seemed to have something he wished to say to me."
"He doubtless had a great deal he wished to say to you," said I, again tempted to futile irony.
"I was sure he had something to say," the girl returned seriously. "He was in trouble. I knew that he was, and I longed to help him."
"What trouble?" I inquired.
"Oh, I don't know. I forgot to ask, but he looked troubled."
"Doubtless he was troubled," I responded. "He had sufficient cause for trouble," I finished the sentence to myself with the words, "in you."
"What was the cause of his trouble?" she hastily asked, turning her face toward me.
"I do not know certainly," I answered in a tone of irony which should have pierced an oak board, while the girl listened and looked at me eagerly; "but I might guess."
"What was it? What was it? Let me hear you guess," she asked.