“You didn’t hurt them. I was just cross at things in general–at myself, I suppose that means,–and angry at you because I’d made you despise me, which certainly wasn’t your fault.”
“Eleanor, what nonsense! I despise you?”
A rustling on the bank reminded Betty that Katherine was waiting. “We must go home,” she said. “It’s after midnight.”
“So it is,” agreed Eleanor, getting up stiffly. “Oh, Betty, I am glad I’m not out there hanging on to that branch and shivering and wondering how soon I should have to let go and end it all. Oh, I shall never forget the feel of that stifling mist.”
They walked home almost in silence. Katherine, missing the murmur of conversation, wondered if this last effort at reconciliation had failed after all; but near Mrs. Chapin’s the talk began again.
“I’m only sorry there isn’t more of spring term left to have a good time in. Why, Eleanor, there’s only two weeks.”
“But there’s all next year,” answered Eleanor.
“I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“I wasn’t, but I am now. I’ve got to–I can’t go off letting people think that I’m only a miserable failure. The Watson pride won’t let me, Betty.”
“Oh, people don’t think anything of that kind,” objected Betty consolingly.