"Please," he pleaded, "I'm a patient man, but. . . ."
So she told him the whole story of Mr. Schultz, and, at the end, waited for him to give voice to the anger that, from the very touch of his hand on hers, she knew he felt. But what he said was:
"It was entirely my fault. I ought never to have left you alone for an instant."
"You thought I was to be trusted," she said, a little bitterly, "and I couldn't even stay where you left me. But you do believe what he said?"
"I'll try to," he answered. "After all, he needn't have said anything—and if you believe it— Look here, let's never think of him or speak of him again, will you? We agreed, didn't we, that Mr. Schultz was only a bad dream, and that he never really happened. And there's nothing now between us at all . . . no concealments?"
"There's one," she said, in a very small voice, "but it's so silly I don't think I can tell you."
"Try," said he. "I could tell of the silliest things. And after that there's one more thing I wish you'd tell me, if you can. You are happy, aren't you? You are glad that we're together again?"
"Yes," she said. "Oh yes!"
"And this morning you weren't?"