"And you—have you any idea how unhappy you are looking?"
"Well, why not?—if it is, as Julian says, 'such a brute of a world.'"
"Julian oughtn't to think so," Napier said bitterly. "Julian has you—"
"Oh, has he! Poor Julian!"
"Do you mean he hasn't?" They were both trembling.
"I mean, whether he has or hasn't, we aren't rid of the miserableness. Once you are started wrong, you can't get right, it seems. Not without—" Suddenly her eyes filled. A shower of words tumbled out in a shaken whisper: "At first—oh, for long, I thought you hardly knew I was there, at Kirklamont, in the world! Then, when you began to notice me, it was only to criticize me. Oh, I used to see you laughing; not with your mouth, with your eyes. You laughed at Julian, too, for thinking I was all right." She broke in upon his protest, which was none the less horrified for being self-convicted.
"Yes, yes; you tried to prevent Julian from caring. I could have forgiven you that," she said, with her look of indignant candor; "yes, I could easily have forgiven you if you'd done it from any nice reason, like jealousy. You didn't do it from a nice reason." Still under her breath, she hurled it at him.
"Hush! They might—" he glanced at the dining-room door.
"You thought I shouldn't 'do.' Julian—well, maybe you know what he thought. So I let him try to make up to me. He couldn't, but I let him try. And what's come out of it all is that Julian—"
"Yes, yes; I know, I know."