He threw himself into his chair, pouring out his words of passionate protestation. She listened, smiling, then came to him and, touching his hair as a mother might her child’s, said—
‘Oh, I am very happy! I was afraid you would not care, and I could not bear to go that way.’
‘You shall not go,’ he cried aloud, as if in pain. ‘Nothing can make that right.’
But she only said, ‘You shall tell me to-morrow. You cannot see to-night, but you will see, and you will tell me.’
He stood up and, holding both her hands, looked long into her eyes, then turned abruptly away and went out.
She stood where he left her for some moments, her face radiant, and her hands pressed upon her heart. Then she came toward my room. She found me busy with my painting, but as I looked up and met her eyes she flushed slightly, and said—
‘I quite forgot you.’
‘So it appeared to me.’
‘You heard?’
‘And saw,’ I replied boldly. ‘It would have been rude to interrupt, you see.’