She stared at him speechlessly. There was absolutely nothing left to say. He really cared for her, it seemed. He really cared! And she? With a gasp of despair she abandoned the unequal strife, and hid her face from him in an agony of tears. Why, why, why, had this knowledge come to her so late?
He was by her side in an instant, stroking, soothing, comforting her, as though she had been a child. When she partially recovered herself her head was against his shoulder, and he was drying her eyes clumsily but tenderly with his own handkerchief.
"There! there!" he said. "Don't cry any more. Some one's been troublin' you. Just let me know who it is, and I'll wring his neck."
She raised herself weakly. The desire to laugh quite left her. She leaned her head in her hands, and forced down her tears.
"You—don't understand," she said at last.
"Don't I?" said Tots. "Why, I thought we were gettin' on so well."
"I know. I know." She was making a supreme effort. It must be now or never. "You have been very good to me. But—but—we never have got on really. It was all a mistake."
"What do you mean?" said Tots.
She fancied his tone had changed a little. It sounded somehow brisker than usual. He was angry, whispered her panting heart, and if she angered him—ah, how should she bear it? But the next instant a big, consoling hand pressed her shoulder, and the misgiving passed.
"Don't tremble like this, little one," he said. "You can't be afraid of me. No one ever was before. There has been a mistake, you say. What was it? Can't you bring yourself to tell me?"