'Do you still believe—what you said?' he asked her, huskily.
Eleanor looked up smiling.
'A thousand times more!' she said, under her breath. 'A thousand times more.'
But here the conversation reached an impasse. Manisty could not say—'Then why?—in Heaven's name!'—for he knew why. Only it was not a why that he and Eleanor could discuss. Every hour he realised more plainly with what completeness Eleanor held him in her hands. The situation was galling. But her sweetness and his own remorse disarmed him. To be helpless—and to be kind!—nothing else apparently remained to him. The only gracious look Lucy had vouchsafed him these two days had been in reward for some new arrangement of Eleanor's sofa which had given the invalid greater ease.
He returned to his seat, smiling queerly.
'Well, I am not the only person in disgrace. Do you notice how Benecke is treated?'
'She avoids him?'
'She never speaks to him if she can help it. I know that he feels it.'
'He risked his penalty,' said Eleanor laughing. 'I think he must bear it.'
Then in another tone, and very softly, she added—
'Poor child!'