let me think."
Mr. Woods gave an inarticulate sound. The face she turned to him
was perplexed, half-sad, fond, a little pleased, and strangely
compassionate. It was Kathleen Eppes who sat beside him; the six years
were as utterly forgotten as the name of Magdalen's first lover. She
was a girl again, listening--with a heart that fluttered, I dare
say--to the wild talk, the mad dithyrambics of a big, blundering boy.
The ludicrous horror of it stunned Mr. Woods.
He could no more have told her of her mistake than he could have
struck her in the face.