“It seems strange to me, Dr. Malbone, that you have never taken any interest in my past life.”
He looked at her quickly and curiously, and somewhat awkwardly replied,—
“I did not wish to intrude, Miss Andros.”
“Would that have been intrusion? I hadn’t thought of it.”
“You must know that I feel an interest in everything that concerns you.” He said this readily, simply, and naturally, and she wondered if he was sincere.
“Of course,” she went on, “lack of all companionship between us means mutual distrust.” This was a sharp thrust, and it found him unguarded. Then she saw that she had gone too far at the start; and this impression was confirmed when, after a pause, he remarked,—
“You and I have been strangely placed. I knew that the conventions of the best-bred people mean much to you, and I have merely respected your natural and proper regard for them. Under these circumstances it was not possible for me to make the first effort to be—friendly, if you will permit the expression.”
She smiled, but the manliness of the rebuke and its entire justice made her secretly resent it. She was determined to hold herself perfectly in hand, for a serious purpose now moved her, and she would not be balked.
“That is all in the past now,” she said. “I have learned to know you as a man of the finest sense of honor, proud, reserved, and self-sacrificing. It would not have been possible for any other sort of man to treat a woman as you have treated me. No, don’t interrupt me. There is nothing but common sense and simple justice in what I am saying, and unless you let me say it you will be harsh and cruel. After all that you have done for me, it is my right to tell you how I feel about it.”
He looked so embarrassed and miserable that she laughed outright; and the music of that rare note sounded in his heart; for it was not a cruel laugh, but merry and hearty, as one would laugh at the comical discomfiture of a friend; and as such it fulfilled its purpose.