"Yes, he ought to have remembered that," agreed Miss Jennings. "But what about me? What should I have remembered?" She appeared almost anxious to be scolded.
"This," said Philip—"that Brand was a proud, passionate man, of very humble birth, terrified of showing you his heart and being laughed at for his pains—"
The girl nodded again.
"Yes," she said, "you are right. I ought to have remembered that. I forgot his feelings sometimes. Poor Bob!" she added pensively.
"So you see," concluded Philip, thankful to feel that his homily was almost delivered, "if only you two could get accustomed to regarding one another in that light, the barrier would be down for ever. A barrier can never stand for a moment when it is attacked from both sides. Make allowances, Miss Jennings! Make allowances! Get to know one another; study one another; appreciate one another! Then Brand can pour out for you all that shy, inarticulate worship of his, without fear of indifference or ridicule, and you can surrender with all the honours of war. Will you try?"
"Will I try?" echoed Miss Jennings wonderingly. "Isn't it a little late in the day?"
"Well—would you try?"
"Would I?" Miss Jennings's voice suddenly broke. "What's the use of my trying?" she demanded tearfully. "Bob's on the other side of the world now—taken up with another girl as likely as not. What's the good of asking me what I would do when I can't do it?"
She was crying in earnest now.
"Supposing—just supposing—" began Philip.