"This is bewildering," said he. And his manner certainly fitted the words.
"That I should have understood? Perhaps I shouldn't—at least, not so quickly—if I hadn't heard how often you have been disappointed, and how hard it has been for you to get rid of some of those you tried and found wanting."
"Believe me—I was not disappointed in you." He spoke earnestly, apparently with sincerity. "The contrary. Your throwing it all up was one of the shocks of my life."
She laughed mockingly—to hide her sensitiveness.
"One of the shocks of my life," he repeated.
She was looking at him curiously—wondering why he was thus uncandid.
"It puzzled me," he went on. "I've been lingering on here, trying to solve the puzzle. And the more I've seen of you the less I understand. Why did you do it? How could you do it?"
He was walking up and down the room in a characteristic pose—hands clasped behind his back as if to keep them quiet, body erect, head powerfully thrust forward. He halted abruptly and wheeled to face her. "Do you mean to tell me you didn't get tired of work and drop it for—" he waved his arm to indicate her luxurious surroundings—"for this?"
No sign of her agitation showed at the surface. But she felt she was not concealing herself from him.
He resumed his march, presently to halt and wheel again upon her. But before he could speak, she stopped him.