"Oh, Peter, I am sorry!"
"Yes, it's difficult after all this time—difficult to find the joining-points. And I'm not very good at that—clumsy and slow."
"Is her illness serious? What is it?"
"Everything! Everything's the matter with her—heart and all. But that isn't her chief trouble. She's so lonely. Can't get near to anybody. It's so difficult to help her. I'm stupid," he repeated. They had come to Millie's door. They stood there facing one another in the dusk.
"Oh, I am sorry," she repeated.
"Well, you must help me," he suddenly jerked out, almost roughly. "Only you can."
"Help you? How?"
"Come and see her."
"I? . . . Oh no!" Millie shrank back.
"Yes, you must. Perhaps you can talk to her. Make her laugh a little. Make her a little less unhappy."