"Muriel! And you pretended—Didn't Madame Boussingault call for you? She said she would call the afternoon that I left."
"I suppose she did."
"Suppose! Don't you know?" Jim also was on his feet. "Didn't you see her? You don't mean to say that you didn't see her?"
"I didn't see her. I left word at the bureau that I was out. I left word that I had gone to Lyons with you."
"Good heavens, Muriel! What will they think? What must they be thinking right now? My letters to you went there. I wrote every day. They would know from the arrival of those letters addressed to you from Lyons that you weren't with me."
She sank on a chair and began feebly to cry.
Jim knelt by her, his annoyance remaining, but his heart touched.
"There, there!" he said. "I understand. You wanted to go with me and were afraid to say so. I wish now that you had gone. That doctor is a fool. He must be a fool. And he isn't a pleasant man. I understand, dearie. Don't say any more. I was cruel——"
"No, no!" sobbed Muriel.
"I was. Yes, I was."