In a few minutes he wheeled round to the bench and stopped full before her, no longer avoiding her eyes. She had taken up the book which he had laid on his end of the seat and was turning the pages.
"Have you read it?"
"Over and over."
"Ah! I knew I could trust you! You never disappoint. Sit down a little while."
"I'd—better go!"
"And haven't you a word? Bring this book back to me in silence? After all I said to you? I want to know how you feel about it—all your thoughts."
She looked up at him with a reproachful smile—
The blood had rushed guiltily into his face, and she seeing this, without knowing what it meant, the blood rushed into hers.
"I don't understand," she said proudly and coldly, dropping her eyes and dropping her head a little forward before him, and soon becoming very pale, as from a death-wound.
He stood before her, trembling, trying to speak, trying not to speak. Then he turned and strode rapidly away.