Someone was being hurt. Immediately she had the soft breast of the dove. "Oh, Mr. James!"
"I wish I could give you more pleasure," he went on. "But there! I've been able to do little enough for you. Well do I know it"
"You've done a lot for me. You've been so good."
"It's a pity we should have fallen out over a stranger. But I know I am too free with my tongue."
"Oh, Mr. James!"
"Never mind, lassie. I'm only an old man, and you're young; you must go your own way—"
"Oh, Mr. James!" She rose and ran round the table to his side; and at the close sight of her, excited and yet muted with pity, brilliant as sunset but soft as light rain, the honest thing in him forgot the spurious scene he was carpentering. He exclaimed solemnly, "Nelly, you are very beautiful."
She was startled. "Me, beautiful?"
"Aye," he said, "beautiful."
For a moment she pondered over it almost stupidly. Then she put her hand on Mr. James's shoulder and shook him; now that her sexual feelings were focussed on one man she treated all other men with a sexless familiarity that to those who did not understand might have seemed shameless and a little mad. "Am I beautiful?" she asked searchingly.