"When I started to tell you all about it, that night at Mrs. Byrd's, it seemed to me that you had brooded over the matter until you had gotten in an overwrought and—overstrung condition about it. It seemed to me the considerate thing not to force the unwelcome topic upon you, but rather to wait—"
"But had you the right to consider my imaginary feelings in such a matter between yourself and ...? And besides, you did not quite keep silent, you remember. You said something that led me to think that you had discharged Mr. Surface for writing that article."
"I did not intend you to think anything of the kind. Anything in the least like that. If my words were ambiguous, it was because, seeing, as I say, that you were in an overstrung condition, I thought it best to let the whole matter rest until you could look at it calmly and rationally."
She made no reply.
"But why dwell on that part of it?" said West, beseechingly. "It was simply a wretched misunderstanding all around. I'm sorrier than I can tell you for my part in it. I have been greatly to blame—I can see that now. Can't you let bygones be bygones? I have come to you voluntarily and told you—"
"Yes, after six weeks. Why, I was the best friend he had, Mr. West, and—Oh, me! How can I bear to remember what I said to him!"
She turned her face hurriedly away from him. West, much moved, struggled on.
"But don't you see—I didn't know it! I never dreamed of such a thing. The moment I heard how matters stood—"
"Did it never occur to you in all this time that it might be assumed that Mr. Surface, having written all the reformatory articles, had written this one?"
"I did not think of that. I was short-sighted, I own. And of course," he added more eagerly, "I supposed that he had told you himself."