Her sobbing went on, and her hand, stretched toward him unawares, clutched at the top of the wooden seat.
"Would you like me to go away and come back again?" he said presently.
"No!" she cried. And at her own cry a terrible convulsion shook her. He could feel her whole body strain and stiffen with the effort to control it. Then she was calm.
"I beg your pardon," she said. "I told you, didn't I, that you'd better go away?"
"Do you suppose that I'm going to leave you here? Just when I've found you?"
"Miss Keating's left me. Did you know?"
"Yes, I heard. Is it—is it a great trouble to you?"
"Yes." She shook again.
"Surely," he began, and hesitated, and grew bold. "Surely it needn't be? She wasn't, was she, such a particularly amiable person?"
"She couldn't help it. She was so unhappy."