But she was much dispirited. "The Lord preserve me!" was all she said, then kept silent. She repeated this at short intervals, and kept silent after each "the Lord preserve me."
I began to jest, caught hold of her, tried to tickle her, lifted her up to my breast. I was irritated not a little--indeed, downright hurt. Was I more unworthy in her eyes now, than if I had myself been instrumental in causing the falling out of my hair? Would she have thought more of me if I had made myself out to be a roué?... No nonsense now;... it was just a matter of going at it; and if it was only just a matter of going at it, so, by the living...
"No;... what do you want?" she queried, and she added these distressing words, "I can't be sure that you are not insane!"
I checked myself involuntarily, and I said: "You don't mean that!"
"Indeed, God knows I do! you look so strangely. And the forenoon you followed me--after all, you weren't tipsy that time?"
"No; but I wasn't hungry then, either; I had just eaten...."
"Yes; but that made it so much the worse."
"Would you rather I had been tipsy?"
"Yes ... ugh ... I am afraid of you! Lord, can't you let me be now!"
I considered a moment. No, I couldn't let her be.... I happened, as if inadvertently, to knock over the light, so that it went out. She made a despairing struggle--gave vent at last to a little whimper.