Marjorie could only think that she was sorry again, but as she had already said that three times, she remained awkwardly silent.
"Is it because——" he began and stopped.
"It isn't because of anything. Please let's go back to the others, Mr. Magnet. I'm sorry if I'm disappointing."
And by a great effort she turned about.
Mr. Magnet remained regarding her—I can only compare it to the searching preliminary gaze of an artistic photographer. For a crucial minute in his life Marjorie hated him. "I don't understand," he said at last.
Then with a sort of naturalness that ought to have touched her he said: "Is it possible, Marjorie—that I might hope?—that I have been inopportune?"
She answered at once with absolute conviction.
"I don't think so, Mr. Magnet."
"I'm sorry," he said, "to have bothered you."
"I'm sorry," said Marjorie.