“What did you think?”
“I thought—perhaps I shouldn’t ever see you again.”
“I had to come,” he said, truthfully, “I couldn’t help it.”
And fell silent, startled by his own words, by his own course of conduct, so altogether different from what he had planned. He had particularly wished to avoid seeing Rosaleen alone. He had certainly not expected to kiss her, or to want to kiss her. He walked across the room and pretended to be looking at Miss Waters’ picture. He was ashamed of himself; he had no business to kiss her; it was dishonourable and unkind. He stole a glance at her, and saw her, still bending over her work, but with flaming cheeks and a hand that trembled. He couldn’t bear that! He strode over to her.
“I’m sorry!” he cried.
Of course she didn’t answer; he didn’t expect her to.
“Please let me come to see you!” he went on. “I want to know you better.... I’ll tell you all about myself....”
“Oh, no!” she cried. “I can’t! Really I can’t! I can’t have anyone! I’m sorry, but—I can’t!”
“But—can’t I see you again, then? Don’t you—won’t you let me...?”
“Yes, I do want to see you,” she answered candidly. “Only—not at home. Can’t we meet somewhere?”