"Yes," said Thirlwell, who hesitated. "I want to keep your good opinion—if I have it."
Agatha smiled, but her glance was soft. "I won't flatter you, because I think you ought to know. But why are you moody? I'd expected you to be sympathetic to rejoice with me."
"For your sake, I am glad."
"But not for yours?"
"I haven't quite got used to the situation yet," Thirlwell answered awkwardly. "You see, I never expected to find the ore."
"That was rather obvious," Agatha rejoined with some dryness. "But if you thought we would be disappointed, why did you come?"
Thirlwell was silent. He did not mean to admit that he had thought a sharp disappointment would be good for her and might save her worse pain. It was difficult to state this properly. Then if he owned that he had come for the pleasure of her society, she might misunderstand him and he might say too much. Agatha was half amused by his embarrassment, but was moved all the same, for she understood more than he knew.
"We'll let it go," she resumed. "Still, I don't see why you should be disturbed by my success."
"One often feels sorry when one finishes a big job. It means one has come to the end of things one has got used to and likes."
"But this is rather the beginning than the end."