"Let me put a case to you," he said, "or, rather, not an indifferent case, but our own, and hear how it sounds in plain English. How we were married, if married we are, it is useless to speak of; how absolutely nothing we are to one another it is unnecessary also to say. I appreciate your efforts and your courtesy when I see so plainly that it is with difficulty you can bring yourself even to speak a word to me." Elizabeth glanced up a moment, and down again, and her fingers went on idly turning the leaves of the book. "When I see what social powers you have," he pursued, "I assure you that I shall regret it for you if fate have denied you a better choice. But at all events" (constrainedly), "I must thank you for the gracious and successful manner in which you have kept suspicion from becoming certainty before time proves it so."
She looked fully at him this time, and smiled.
"Gratitude comes hard to you," she said. "There is no cause for it in anything I have ever done. You may be sure it was not to please you at all, but to gratify something in myself that demanded satisfaction. Now, please explain to me what you mean by your extraordinary summary of things we know too well, and how I have offended you when I am really your friend—yours, and "—She stopped, a smile flitted over her face and was gone; it revealed for the unnamed person a gentleness and an affection that perhaps she did not care to have her tones betray.
"Yes, you have offended me," he said. "I have no right to comment on your actions in general."
"None whatever."
"But what I do have a right to demand is an explanation from you of conduct so strange as to be unaccountable."
She flushed a little.
"It's not pleasant," she answered, "when one has done the best that opened up to be told that it's unaccountable conduct."
"Then it was you? I was sure of it." She looked at him earnestly.