"Are you going?" she said, as he made a movement.
"I didn't know—" he said, hesitating and looking at her.
"I am not angry," she said a little wistfully. "You were quite right. I'm glad you did it. You are much bigger than I could be—I like that."
"You were the first to wake me up," he said happily, sitting down.
"Yes, but you have gone so far ahead. You do things without compromise, and that sometimes frightens me." She stopped a moment, and said, looking at him steadily: "You have kept away a long while. Now you see you are caught. You can't avoid being alone with me."
"I don't want to," he said abruptly.
"You are so proud, Dink," she said softly, using his nickname for the first time. "I have never seen any one so proud. Everything you do I think comes from that. But it must make you suffer terribly."
"Yes, it does."
They were in the front parlor, dimly lit, sitting on the window-seat, hearing from time to time the passing chug of horses' feet.
"I knew how it must have hurt you—all this publicity," she said slowly. "Why didn't you come when I wrote you? Were you too proud?"