"Why—why do you come—into my bedroom?" she faltered. "Does our friendship count for no more than that with you?"
"What?" he said, bewildered.[146]
"That you do what you have no right to do. Art—art is not enough to—to—excuse—disrespect——"
Suddenly the tears sprang to her eyes, and she covered her flushed face with both hands.
For a moment Brown stood petrified. Then a deeper flush than hers settled heavily over his features.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She made no response.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I do respect you," he said.
No response.
Brown gazed at her, gazed at his note-book.