She followed him into the lift, still smiling brightly, a smile which he saw reflected in the looking-glass and which alarmed him by its expression of triumph. If he could have read her thoughts as well, his alarm would have vanished. It was her firm resolution to look bright, brave, self-assured; she hoped that her air would not only impress him but herself as well.
“Oh, God!” she was praying under her breath. “Oh, just this once, make me equal to the situation! I always fail; I’m always beaten! Oh, let me, only this one time, win!”
He opened the door of his sitting-room, and they entered. She began at once, the instant the door closed behind them.
“Mr. Stephens,” she said, “I have heard from Andrée what you propose to do.”
He bowed his head, and said nothing. She realized, with surprise, that he was not without dignity; that there was nothing in any way contemptible either in his manner or his appearance.
“I am astonished,” she went on, “that you should have done such an—unworthy thing. Andrée is very young and impressionable, and you have taken advantage of this to influence her. She neither knows nor realizes what she has undertaken.”
“Excuse me,” he said. “But I’m sure she does. I haven’t tried to influence her. I’ve—I’ve given this a lot of thought, Mrs. Vincelle. At first I was afraid Andrée couldn’t be happy with me ... but ... now I do think so.”
“Why, Mr. Stephens?”
His fair face flushed.
“It’s pretty hard to explain,” he said, “but I think—well, I think I understand her, and can get on with her. I—well—I know I’m—different, in some ways—but I can’t see that that matters.”