“Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.”
“Then don't talk about it.”
“How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I despise myself sometimes.”
“Great goodness!” said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. “Speak the truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I—does this worrying bore you?”
“No. It does not.”
“You'd tell me if it did?”
“I should let you know, I think.”
“Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known that?”
Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was forced to repeat it.
“There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.”