“Let me help you into the office.”
He would have none of it. “I fancy I can walk without assistance,” he said, and, declining her touch, he made his way through the crowd and into the office, where he sunk into a chair. Here he remained erect, though Carmel could see it was nothing but his will which prevented him from allowing his head to sink upon the table. She touched his arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I want to apologize for—for things I have said to you.”
He looked at her in his old manner, rather superciliously. “Oh, doubtless you were right,” he said. “I—er—do not seem to be a success as a—pugilist.”
“You were——”
“If you please,” he said, holding up a hand which he strove to keep from shaking. “If you will be so good as to go to luncheon.”
“But——”
“If you get pleasure out of seeing me like this!” he said with acerbity, and she, seeing how his pride was wounded, how he was shaken by this new experience, and understanding very vaguely something of the emotions which must be seething within him, turned away and left him alone....
When Carmel returned to the office Evan Pell was not there, nor did she see him until the following day.
That evening, after her supper, she walked. She could not remain in her room to read, nor go to the office to work. She was lonesome, discouraged, frightened. The events of the day had upset her until she seethed.... Motion was necessary. Only in rapid exercise could she find the anodyne necessary to quiet the jangling of her nerves. The evening was fine, lighted by a summer moon which touched the mountains with magic and transformed the forest into a glowing mystery of silver. She did not walk to think, but as the distance unrolled between her feet and the disturbed nerves became quiescent, she did think.