"You are ill!" she said, in a half whisper. "Will you sit down here for a moment?"
From very helplessness Lawrence was obliged to comply. He sat down; he did not try to speak. He had nothing more to say; and he was beginning to know how foolish he had been to say as much as he had said.
Carolyn sat down also, a few feet away from him. The tide had turned, and the waves were splashing intermittently against the base of the rocks below them; out in the bay the water had assumed that look of new life which the incoming of the tide produces. The girl dully wondered why, at such a moment, she should note all this. But she did think of these phenomena more keenly than when her mind was at liberty. And at the same time it seemed as if she saw nothing and knew nothing but that ghastly face with its terribly brilliant eyes that had been looking at her like eyes from some other world.
She moved her hands now, as if some movement, however slight, would be a help to her.
This was Prudence Ffolliott's husband. And it was plain that he was not happy. But perhaps that was because he was ill. She tried not to be confused by the pity his physical weakness excited in her. She wished to be kind, but not too kind. She wondered what was the exact way in which she ought to behave.
She glanced swiftly at Lawrence. He was sitting with his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed unseeingly before him; she knew that he did not see anything; and she knew how indignant he would be if he realized how weak he looked. She must not wound him. Her eyes melted, her whole face softened indescribably, and her voice, when she spoke, partook of this change.
"You see, don't you," he said, quickly, "that all that I can say to you is to beg for pardon. After that I will not annoy you."
"I forgive you," she answered, at last. "I forgave you long ago."
"God bless you for that! Oh, Caro, God bless you for that!"
The words burst from his white lips, and the old familiar name came unconsciously.