Lucy stared at him in astonishment.
'Shall I tell you why? We have been too kind to each other!'
He waited, studying his companion's face with a hard, whimsical look.
'Eleanor gave my book too much sympathy. It wanted brutality. I have worn her out—and my book is in a mess. The best thing I could do for us both—was to cut it short.'
Lucy was uncomfortably silent.
'There's no use in talking about it,' Manisty went on, impatiently, with a shake of his great shoulders; 'I am not meant to work in partnership. A word of blame depresses me; and I am made a fool by praise. It was all a mistake. If only Eleanor could understand—that it's my own fault—and I know it's my own fault—and not think me unjust and unkind. Miss Foster—'
Lucy looked up. In the glance she encountered, the vigorous and wilful personality beside her seemed to bring all its force to bear upon herself—
'—if Eleanor talks to you—
'She never does!' cried Lucy.
'She might,' said Manisty, coolly. 'She might. If she does, persuade her of my admiration, my gratitude! Tell her that I know very well that I am not worth her help. Her inspiration would have led any other man to success. It only failed because I was I. I hate to seem to discourage and disavow what I once accepted so eagerly.—But a man must find out his own mistakes—and thrash his own blunders. She was too kind to thrash them—so I have appointed Neal to the office. Do you understand?'