"Yes, Jerry dear, contrite. I simply couldn't let another hour pass without coming to ask your forgiveness."
He was weakening. Perhaps his arm was around her. I don't know, but his silence was ominous.
"I have been so miserable," she murmured. "My conscience has troubled me terribly. Oh, I can't tell you how I have suffered. All the evening I thought you would come. I waited for you; I went out on the terrace a hundred times, watching for the lights of your car; but you didn't come, you didn't come, Jerry, and I knew how terribly I had offended you."
I couldn't see her but I'm sure she was wringing her pretty white hands. Jerry must have been deeply moved for his voice was shaky.
"It didn't matter about me, but a visitor, a guest at Horsham Manor, Marcia, a friend—!"
"A friend, yes. Oh, I've been so unhappy about it all—so miserably wretched."
Her voice broke and she seemed upon the point of tears.
"Why did you, Marcia? Why did you?" he repeated.
"I—I—" She appeared to break down and weep and Jerry's voice took on a tone of distress.
"Don't, Marcia, please!"