“You’d better go in,” he said again; “it’s awfully cold and wet for you to be out here.”
The feeling that I was prying upon his trouble, whatever it was, made me take a few undecided steps away from him; but, looking back, I saw that he had again relapsed into his old position, and with an uncontrollable impulse I came back.
“I won’t go away, Willy,” I said, sitting down beside him; “I can’t leave you here like this. Won’t you tell me what it is that is troubling you?”
He neither lifted his head nor spoke, but I could hear the quick catchings of his breath. A thrust of sharp pity pierced my heart.
“Do tell me what it is, Willy,” I repeated, careless of the break in my voice, putting one hand on his shoulder, and trying with the other to draw one of his from his face.
He was trembling all over, and when I touched him he started and let his hand fall, but he turned still further from me.
“Don’t,” he said huskily. “You can’t do any good; nothing can——”
“What do you mean?” I said, horror-struck at the settled despair in his voice. “What has happened to you?”
“It’s no use your asking me questions,” he answered more calmly. “I tell you there’s nothing the matter with me.”
“I don’t believe you” I said. “Something has happened to you since yesterday morning. Is it anything that I have done? Is it my fault in any way?”