She submitted to a sofa, to an adjusted light, to the papers on her knee. Then Delafield withdrew and took up a book.
She could not rest, however; visions of the morrow and of Warkworth's triumphant looks kept flashing through her. Yet all the while Delafield's presence haunted her--she could not forget him, and presently she addressed him.
"Mr. Delafield!"
He heard the low voice and came.
"I have never thanked you for your goodness last night. I do thank you now--most earnestly."
"You needn't. You know very well what I would do to serve you if I could."
"Even when you think me in the wrong?" said Julie, with a little, hysterical laugh.
Her conscience smote her. Why provoke this intimate talk--wantonly--with the man she had made suffer? Yet her restlessness, which was partly nervous fatigue, drove her on.
Delafield flushed at her words.
"How have I given you cause to say that?"