Her voice had lost something of its first ringing assurance. It seemed to shake a little, like an indignant child's.
The young man said hurriedly:
"No, no! Of course not! I--indeed, I think you misunderstood what I meant to say in--in that letter. I must have expressed myself badly. I did not intend so much a--a criticism of individuals, as of society, for--"
"Oh, please don't apologize. That's always rather silly, I think. I like to see people with the courage of their convictions, no matter how wrong they are. Good-evening."
"Don't go," said the slum physician, instantly, much as Mr. Canning had said at a similar yet totally different moment--"that is--must you--go at once? I--there is something I've wanted very much to tell you."
She stopped still; stood in silence gazing at Dalhousie's friend, the shabby author of the two Severe Arraignments. Undoubtedly there was a sinking feeling within her, unsteadying in its way. But she was spirited, and into her eyes had come a hostile challenge. Passionately she dared this man to ask God to pity her again....
Her eyes were oval and lifted the least bit at the outer corners. The bow of her upper lip drew up a little most engagingly at the middle (like Teresa Durbeyfield's), an irregularity more endearing to the eye than any flawlessness. There was the possibility of tenderness in this mouth; more than the promise of strength in the finely cut chin. Her thick lashes began pure gold, but changed their minds abruptly in the middle, and finished jet black....
She was the loveliest thing this man's eyes had ever rested upon. And as at the Beach, he seemed to begin with a plunge:
"Jack Dalhousie's gone away, Miss Heth--gone to Weymouth, Texas, to live. I had a letter from him, day before yesterday. He's got work there, on a stock-farm--among strangers. He hasn't taken a drink since--October. He's making a new start, with nothing to remind him of what's past. I ... hope he will be happy yet."
Carlisle's breast rose and fell. "Why do you tell this to me?"