“I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine,” she sobbed. “I suppose I shall have to. I can't do anything else. But don't ask me to do it now. That would be TOO much!”
The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall. To say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a very mild estimate of my feelings. Why should I expect her to forgive me? What had I done? I—or luck and I together—had saved one of her husband's stock speculations from ending in smash; but that was no injury for which I should beg forgiveness. At least I could not see that it was.
Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
“Nerves are the devil, aren't they,” he observed. “And nerves and a woman together are worse than that. My wife, Paine, is—well, she hasn't been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have done our best to give her her own way. When you've had your own way for years it rather hurts to be checkmated. I know that from experience. She'll feel better about it by and by.”
“Better about what?” I demanded, involuntarily. “I don't understand Mrs. Colton's meaning in the least.”
He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
“Don't you?” he asked. “You are sure you don't?”
“Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I don't see.”
Another pause and more scrutiny.
“So you don't understand what she means, hey?” he said again. “All right, all right! We won't discuss that yet a while. If you don't understand—never mind. Time enough for us to talk of that when you do. But, say, Paine,” with one of his dry smiles, “who taught you to buck a stock pool?”