Mary-Lou vanished away amongst the little trees.
“What is it?” asked Loseis coldly.
“I cannot bear it . . . !”
“What?”
“Your look! . . . Forgive me!”
“For what must I forgive you?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is that I have done that angers you. For getting you into this scrape.”
Her face looked very small and pinched. It worked curiously with anger. Her voice came unnaturally sharp: “Forgive you! What sort of talk is this? Are you trying to make me feel worse than I feel already? Aren’t you satisfied with doing most of the work, and walking twice as far to hunt, and carrying a double load, but you must make me feel what a burden I am by asking me to forgive you!”
He only dimly understood the torment of this proud nature. “But Loseis . . . !” he protested, staring, “this is foolishness . . . !”
“Of course! of course! of course! I am a fool! That is well understood!”