"No, it was on that one occasion when he called here."
"I dare say I misunderstood," says Cyril, "but I certainly thought he said he had seen only Mrs. Arlington."
"Well?"
"Well?"
"I am Mrs. Arlington!"
"What!" says Cyril, with exaggerated surprise,—and a moment later is shocked at the vehemence of his own manner. "I beg your pardon, I am sure," he says, contritely; "there is no reason why it should not be so, but you seem so—I had no idea you wore a—that is—I mean I did not think you were married."
"You had no idea I was a widow," corrects Mrs. Arlington, coldly. "I do not see why you need apologize. On the contrary, I consider you have paid me a compliment. I am glad I do not look the character. Good-morning, sir; I have detained you too long already."
"It is I who have detained you, madam," says Cyril, speaking coldly also, being a little vexed at the tone she has employed toward him, feeling it to be undeserved. "I fear I have been unhappy enough to err twice this morning,—though I trust you will see—unwittingly." He accompanies this speech with a glance so full of entreaty and a mute desire for friendship as must go straight to the heart of any true woman; after which, being a wise young man, he attempts no further remonstrance, but lifts his hat, and walks away gloomily toward his home.
Mrs. Arlington, who is not proof against so much reproachful humility, lifts her head, sees the dejected manner of his departure, and is greatly struck by it. She makes one step forward; checks herself; opens her lips as though to speak; checks herself again; and finally, with a little impatient sigh, turns and walks off gloomily toward her home.