"I’m sorry," he said. "I didn’t mean to be so rough. Only—it’s a terrible disappointment to me, Angelica. I never imagined such a thing. I almost wish you hadn’t told me. I keep seeing you and some hulking fellow in overalls——”
She was sobbing bitterly, standing before him like a forlorn and penitent child.
"Don’t cry!" he said more kindly. "Don’t cry, my dear. I’ll try to forget it. I’ll try!"
"Will it—not make any difference?" she sobbed.
"I’ll try not to let it. Only, Angelica—it was often so hard—over there—not to—so hard to be true to you—not even to think of any one else; and when I think of it, and how I hated myself, even for my thoughts—I feel like a fool. I don’t believe you’d have cared what I did. You don’t feel as I do. You don’t value loyalty as I do."
She seized this opening.
"No!" she cried. "I shouldn’t have cared, one bit, whatever you did, if only we love each other now!"
"No, don’t! I don’t like to hear you say that. I want you to care, as I do. I want you to be fine and—high-minded."
"Eddie, I’m not. There’s no use pretending that I am."
"I don’t want you to pretend to be. I want you to try to be."