"Still, you did your best."
"My best! You can't say I did what an honourable man would have done; I mean at the beginning."
"No—no. I'm afraid I can't say that."
He did not expect anything but sincerity from her, neither did he desire that her sense of honour should be less fine than his. But he longed for some word of absolution, some look even that should reinstate him in his self-esteem; and it seemed to him that there was none.
"You can't think worse of me than I think myself," he said, and turned mournfully away.
She sat suddenly upright, with one hand on the arm of her chair, as if ready to rise and cut off his retreat.
"Wait," she said. "Have you any idea what you are going to do?"
The question held him within a foot's length of her chair, where the light fell full on his face.
"I only know I'm not going back to the shop."
"You were in earnest, then? It really has come to that?"