Buckley couldn't see her now, but he heard her moan, "Oh dear, oh dear!" in a muffled tone, and he felt that she must be cowering in the corner farthest away from him, and it made him have all sorts of contempt for himself. Then he talked again, standing with his back against the door and looking toward the dark. "I don't know who you are," he began in a loud, nervous whisper, "but whoever you are, I wish you wouldn't cry. Please be calm. I want to talk to you."
"I don't want to hear you—I don't want to hear you."
"Not so loud, or we'll be heard."
"Oh, oh, how can you trade upon my necessity? Haven't you a grain of manhood, a spark of kindness in you——"
"Yes, yes, lots," said Buckley. "Listen to me. Please listen. It's all a big mistake. I thought I was coming to my own room——"
"Your own room!"
"I mean my classmate's room—I mean I thought a freshman roomed here. I wouldn't have made the mistake for anything in the world. You aren't half as sorry I got in your room as I am—Oh, yes, you are!—I mean I'm awfully sorry and wish to apologize, and I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't mean anything——"
"Mean anything!"
"Really I didn't. If you'll only let me go down and promise not to wake the house before I get out, why, no one will ever know anything about it, and I'll promise not to do it again. I'm awfully sorry it happened." Buckley started for the door.
"Mrs. Brown—Mr. Brown, help! murder!"