"I beg your pardon," he cried, "I have hurt you."
And as quick as a flash she understood him because she was a woman.
"My parents are dead," she said.
Presently he began again, very gently.
"Would it displease you if I beg you to receive me? It is the custom?"
"I cannot," she answered. Then glancing up at him, "I am sorry; I should like to; but believe me. I cannot."
He bowed seriously and looked vaguely uneasy.
"It isn't because I don't wish to. I—I like you; you are very kind to me."
"Kind?" he cried, surprised and puzzled.
"I like you," she said slowly, "and we will see each other sometimes if you will."