"I'm grateful to you, but I can manage quite well by myself."
"So I imagined. I didn't come here to ask you that. I came to ask if your sudden departure is due to what happened yesterday."
"You and Dorothy have been very good to me. I didn't wish you to think I was taking advantage of your good nature."
"That's not a very straight answer."
"What does it matter to you?"
"It matters a great deal. I shouldn't like to think that anything I'd done had driven you away."
She was standing at the table. She looked down. Her eyes fell on the Sketch. It was months old now. It was that paper which Walter had stared at all through the terrible evening when—and Walter now was. . . . She raised her eyes.
"I feel absolutely degraded. You can't possibly despise me as much as I despise myself."
"But I don't despise you. I meant every word that I said yesterday. What's the good of running away like this? I don't know why we can't be good friends. I hate the idea of your thinking I've treated you badly."
"Why couldn't you leave me alone?"