“I’m a fool,” she sobbed, “a fool... I don’t know why I’m crying. Please, don’t take any notice of me. I’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Oh! my dear,” she cried presently, raising her face, and looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes, “you can’t imagine... He’s an old man, and childish. He doesn’t seem to remember—anything. He was just glad to see me... And all the time I was only conscious of an eagerness, a horrible eagerness, to get away,—to run from the room. If it’s going to be like that always—”
“It won’t,” he interposed quietly. “You’ve had a shock, I wish now I had persuaded you not to come. Sit down, Pamela. Shall I ask for anything for you?”
“No,” she said, “I don’t want any one to come in here. I’m all unnerved. I don’t know how I am going through with this.”
“Then don’t go through with it,” he said. “Chuck it. It’s not too late now.”
He led her to a chair and put her into it.
“What’s the use of making yourself miserable, like this?” he said.
She looked at him in consternation, as he stood over her and made this astounding suggestion in the quiet ordinary tones of a man offering quite simple, commonplace advice. He met her gaze steadily.
“You’ve tried,” he said. “It’s not your fault if the job is too big for your undertaking. I’ve felt all along that you didn’t appreciate fully the difficulty of the task. Give in, Pamela, and admit yourself beaten.”
“Give in now?” she cried.