“Thank you.”
She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus. Although she had apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted the thought itself. I was seized with a desire for justification in her eyes. I wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that explanations were impossible.
“Miss Colton,” I said, impulsively.
“Yes?”
“May I—may I say a word?”
“Certainly, if you wish.”
She turned again and faced me.
“Miss Colton, I—I—” I began, and paused.
“Well?” she said, patiently, “What is it?”
“Miss Colton,” I blundered on, “you should not have apologized. You were right. Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct. I realized that when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever since. I deserved what I got—perhaps. But I should not wish you to think—that is, I—well, I had reasons, they seemed to me reasons, for being what I was—what I am. I doubt if they were altogether good reasons; I am inclined now to think they were not. But I had come to think them good. You see, I—I—”