He could hardly go on with this. The next few words were swallowed down. It was plain enough that he couldn't think clearly. And he couldn't possibly know that he was giving her an opening through which, within a very few moments, she was to see the outline of the policy she must pursue during these difficult days to come on the junk.
She lifted her head; leaned on an elbow. “Do you know,” she said, in a voice that seemed, now, to have a note of friendliness, “I'm sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me!”
“Don't think I can't see how it is. And you mustn't misunderstand me. I'm older than you. I'm pretty experienced. My life has been hard. There couldn't be anything serious between you and me. You've wakened up to that.”
The new note in her voice puzzled him, but caught his interest. He stood looking straight down at her.
“I know you're in love,” she went on.
“But—”
“Don't be silly. It's plain enough. She's very attractive. Nobody could blame you.”
“She's wonderful!”
“It's nice to see you feeling that way. It—it's no good our talking about it, you and me. All I've got to say is—please don't think I'd bother you. I may have led a rough life at times—a girl alone, who has to live by her wits—but—oh, well, never mind that! Every man has had his foolish moments. I understand you better than you will ever know—and—well, here's good luck!” And she offered her hand.