“Well, I came here because I wanted to walk—and walk—and WALK,” said Leslie restlessly. “I couldn’t on the rock shore—the tide was too high and the rocks prisoned me. I had to come here—or I should have gone mad, I think. I rowed myself over the channel in Captain Jim’s flat. I’ve been here for an hour. Come—come—let us walk. I can’t stand still. Oh, Anne!”
“Leslie, dearest, what is the trouble?” asked Anne, though she knew too well already.
“I can’t tell you—don’t ask me. I wouldn’t mind your knowing—I wish you did know—but I can’t tell you—I can’t tell anyone. I’ve been such a fool, Anne—and oh, it hurts so terribly to be a fool. There’s nothing so painful in the world.”
She laughed bitterly. Anne slipped her arm around her.
“Leslie, is it that you have learned to care for Mr. Ford?”
Leslie turned herself about passionately.
“How did you know?” she cried. “Anne, how did you know? Oh, is it written in my face for everyone to see? Is it as plain as that?”
“No, no. I—I can’t tell you how I knew. It just came into my mind, somehow. Leslie, don’t look at me like that!”
“Do you despise me?” demanded Leslie in a fierce, low tone. “Do you think I’m wicked—unwomanly? Or do you think I’m just plain fool?”
“I don’t think you any of those things. Come, dear, let’s just talk it over sensibly, as we might talk over any other of the great crises of life. You’ve been brooding over it and let yourself drift into a morbid view of it. You know you have a little tendency to do that about everything that goes wrong, and you promised me that you would fight against it.”