“No—no, Jack,” she said brokenly, and she caught his hand in both her own and tried to raise it to her lips, but he held her back and she put her face on his breast and sobbed heart-brokenly. He waited for the paroxysm to pass, stroking her hair gently.
“You mustn't feel that way, little girl. You can't help it—I can't help it—and these things happen all the time, everywhere. You don't have to stay here. You can go away and study, and when I can, I'll come to see you and cheer you up; and when you are a great singer, I'll send you flowers and be so proud of you, and I'll say to myself, 'I helped do that.' Dry your eyes, now. You must go back to the hotel. Your father will be there by this time and you'll have to be starting home pretty soon.”
Like a child she obeyed him, but she was so weak and trembling that he put his arm about her to help her down the hill. At the edge of the woods she stopped and turned full toward him.
“You are so good,” she said tremulously, “so GOOD. Why, you haven't even asked me if there was another—”
Hale interrupted her, shaking his head.
“If there is, I don't want to know.”
“But there isn't, there isn't!” she cried, “I don't know what is the matter with me. I hate—” the tears started again, and again she was on the point of breaking down, but Hale checked her.
“Now, now,” he said soothingly, “you mustn't, now—that's all right. You mustn't.” Her anger at herself helped now.
“Why, I stood like a silly fool, tongue-tied, and I wanted to say so much. I—”
“You don't need to,” Hale said gently, “I understand it all. I understand.”