She shook her head, and I saw her lips tremble.
"As you know, I have no brother now; he is dead. What a ghastly mockery life is, isn't it? But for mother, I think I should run away."
Each sentence was spoken abruptly and nervously, and I could see she was much wrought upon.
"Mr. Erskine," she went on, "you were very cruel to me a few days ago."
"Yes," I said, "perhaps I was. I meant to be. I am sorry now. Had I known about your brother, I would not have spoken."
"You were cruel because you were so un-understanding. You were utterly ignorant, and because of your ignorance you were foolish."
"Ignorant of what?" I asked.
"Of everything, everything!" And she spoke almost passionately. "Was what you told me true?"
A wild look came into her eyes, such a look as I had never seen before.
"I don't think I had any right to say it," I replied, "but was I unjust in my accusation? Did you not try to fascinate me? Did you not try to make me fall in love with you?"