'You—you—speak very unkindly to me,' she sobbed.
'Speak unkindly? I didn't know it. What did I say?'
'You won't believe when I say I'm sorry you feel lonely.'
'Why, confound it, I'll believe as much as you like, if it comes to that. Put that handkerchief away, and drink another glass of wine.'
She stood up, and went to lean on the mantelpiece, hiding her face. When he was near her again, she continued her complaints in a low voice.
'It's so miserable at home. They want me to be a teacher, and how can I? I never pretended to be clever, and if I'd all the lessons under the sun, I should never be able to teach French—and—arithmetic—and those things. But I wish I could; then I should get away from home, and see new people. There's nobody I care to see in Dunfield—nobody but one—'
She stopped on a sob.
'Who's that?' Dagworthy asked, looking at her with a singular expression, from head to foot.
She made no answer, but sobbed again.
'What Christmas presents have you had?' was his next question, irrelevant enough apparently.