"I—I'm trying not to—but—" and she wept anew.
"Come," said Jerry's voice. "Sit here a moment. I'm sure it can all be explained. It makes me very unhappy to see you so miserable."
They moved nearer and she sat upon the very rock beneath which I lay among the mouldy leaves; so near that I could have reached out and touched the girl's silken ankle with my fingers. Jerry, I think, still stood.
"I don't want to—to make you unhappy," she said in a moment. "And it was all my fault, but I just couldn't—couldn't stand it, Jerry."
"Stand what?"
A pause and then in muffled tones.
"Don't you know? Don't you really understand?"
"No. I—"
"I was mad," she whispered, "mad with jealousy of Una. She was your first love, your first—"
"Marcia! You mustn't. It's absurd."