"Yes," he whispered.
"Oh, that's bad," she uttered sympathetically. "It is bad to come between a man and his wife. And you—" she paused briefly then bit her lip in slight vexation, then observed him with head bent before her. It was rather unusual, and that was what had vexed her. Could it mean anything what a woman like her thought of or sympathized. Yet, she was moved by the condition of the stranger before her. She felt she had to say something. "And you—you don't look like a bad fellow at all." He looked up at her with expressionless eyes. She returned the look and then went on:
"You have such honest, frank and truthful eyes. Honestly, I feel sorry for you."
"Oh, thank you," he said gratefully then. To have some one—even such a woman look at him so kindly, to say words of condolence was like water to the thirsty. He thought then again of that other, and the father that was hers, who at that moment sat in the company of another man's wife. He recalled that Mrs. Pruitt said that he had been in town for several days and every day since he had been there. Naturally. This man courted another man's wife openly, yet was ready with all the force in him, the moment Jean Baptiste sought his God-given mate, to rise up in pious dignity to oppose him. Wrath became his now, and his eyes narrowed. In the moment he wanted to go forth and slay the beast who was making this. He rose slightly. She saw it, and her eyes widened. She reached out and touched his hand where it gripped the table.
"Please don't do that," she said, and in her voice there was a slight appeal.
He regarded her oddly, and then understood. He sank back listlessly in the seat, and sighed.
"Poor boy," she said. "Some one has done you a terrible wrong. It is strange how the world is formed, and the ill fortune it brings to some. I can just see that some one has done you a terrible wrong, and that when you rose now you would have gone forth and killed him."
He regarded her with gratitude in his eyes, and the expression upon his face told her that she had spoken truly.
"But try to refrain from that desire. Oh, it's justifiable it seems. But then when we stop to think that we will never feel the same afterward about it, it's best to try to forget our grief. You are young, and there are worlds of nice girls who would love and make for you happiness. Some day that will be yours in spite of all. So please, just think and—don't kill the one who has done this."
"You are awfully kind," he whispered. He felt rather odd. Of all places, this was not where men came to be consoled, indeed. But herein he had gotten what he could not get on Vernon Avenue where church members were supposed to dwell. He arose now.... He reached out his hand and she took it. "I don't quite understand what has happened, but you have helped me." He reached into his pocket and withdrew some coins, and this he handed her. She drew back her hand, but he insisted.