She was sitting timidly on the edge of a chair near the fire and her whole attitude was a mute apology for her presence in my room. All through her body, I knew she was shivering. There was no outward sign of it, but by the way she held to the arm of the chair, by the very posture she had adopted, it was plainly to be seen that all her nerves were trembling with vibration after a great strain. I closed the door.
"I don't know what you think of me for coming here after that letter I returned—after—"
She began that way; then almost all sound went out of her voice. I saw her lips move, but could hear no more than a pathetic murmuring of words.
"I can't quite make it out," I admitted quickly, "but does that matter? You needn't think about the letter—that was a month ago. You've come to tell me what's happened since. What has happened?"
I drew up my chair to the fire. "It will give her the impression," I said to myself, "that we have talked like this a hundred times before." Of course, it may not have done so at all. I only know that women are susceptible to such little matters as these. Doubtless they make life easier. I am certain that the absence of them makes it more difficult. Yet in this instance it seemed not to help Clarissa at all. She just looked up at me with her big eyes, which I shall ever remember best of all when they were full of anger, but still she could not answer. It seemed as though the weight of all she had to tell was too heavily laid upon her for speech. But knowing nothing, how could I help her? And so we might have continued had I not thought suddenly of that look of hunger which I imagined I had seen in her face when I first opened the door.
"Wait a minute," said I, and I spoke easily, quickly, as though I would interrupt her, "let's have tea first. Wouldn't you like some tea?"
The very sound of it brought a different look into her eyes. I swear to Heaven, I believed then I could have made her happy. It is knowing these little things about women that count so much, and a long day is full of them. I do not know how I have learnt them. It is not from experience. But it would seem that I have grown up with the knowledge that to anticipate her needs is a finer jewel to a woman than any diamond set in platinum. The fact that she would choose the diamond is no proof that she must like it best.
Directly I saw that expression in Clarissa's face I rose and rang the bell for my housekeeper who, in Moxon's absence, was looking after me.
"Now what shall we have to eat?" said I. "What would you like—hot buttered toast, muffins, tea-cakes, scones?"
It pleases them also to know that there is a lot to choose from. They love being unable to make up their minds amidst a galaxy of riches. They like you to select for them, just so that they may realize how your selection has eliminated the very thing they did not want.