"Why am I suddenly to be discomfited by such elaborate thanks, such scathing politeness?" she asked in a tone of valiant good-humour.
"I didn't mean it to be scathing."
"Well, it is. Overmuch thanks for small services is a poor compliment to friendship. I thought you and I agreed on that point."
He answered nothing. He was nerving himself to the effort of decisive speech, which should set danger at arm's length and end their distracting situation once for all.
She set the small table closer to his side.
"I will look in again, in case you should want some more," she said softly, "if you will promise me not to say 'thank you!'"
"I promise," he answered with a half smile; and she turned to go. But before she had reached the door his voice arrested her.
"Honor,—one minute, please. I have something particular to say."
The note of constraint was so marked that the girl stood speechless, scarcely breathing, wondering what would come next—whether his words would break down the barrier that held them apart.