“I made the toast for you,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” she returned.
“It does matter.” He leaned across the table for the loaf. “Bread will do for me. And you will drink some tea yourself before you give me any more.”
She heard the dominant note returning in his voice. “I shall do as I think best,” she said, but she complied, for something in the glance of those fevered eyes compelled.
They ate and drank together thereafter in unbroken silence until he rose to go. Then, his cap once more in his hand, he paused, looking across at her.
“So you have decided to reserve judgment for the present?” he said.
She met his look steadily, though her heart quickened a little.
“For the present—yes,” she said.
He still looked at her. “And if you find—some day—that I can behave other than as a brute-beast, will you perhaps—manage to forget?”
To forget! The word, uttered so humbly, brought the quick tears to her eyes. She turned her face aside.