“Miss Tessa, my mother believes in me.”
“I know that.”
“You do not weigh my words sufficiently. They do not mean enough to you.”
“Is that so very strange?”
“Yes, it is strange when I tell you that I know I was a fool! When I tell you that I have repented in dust and ashes. I did not understand you, nor myself, a year ago—I am dull about understanding people. I think that I am not quick about any thing; I can not make a quick reply; I have labored at my studies; I was not brilliant in school or college; I am very slow, but I am very sure. If you had been as slow as I, our friendship would never have had its break; you were too quick for me; but you understood me long before I understood myself; I did not understand myself until I was withdrawn from you. Do you believe that?”
“Yes, I believe it. But you should have waited until you did understand.”
“It is rather tough work for a man to confess himself a fool.”
Tessa said nothing.
“I do not ask to be excused, I ask to be forgiven; to be borne with. Will you be patient with me?”
“I do not know how to be patient. I am too quick. I have been very bitter and unjust towards you; I judged you as if you were as quick as I am; I have even wished you dead; it does not do for us to be in a class together.”