He rose quickly and came over to her, resting his hand upon the back of her chair and only by an effort restraining himself from catching her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “so sorry, and so glad you did send for me. Don’t—don’t cry.”
“I’m so helpless!” she sobbed.
She dropped her hands on her lap disconsolately; he took them in his, as he stooped over her.
“Come, come, you’re not helpless,” he said, “because you’re not alone. Tell me, what has happened?”
She drew her hands slowly from his, as she answered—
“You must forgive me—crying; I’m not often so silly, but I couldn’t help it. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what I should have done. Please sit down again and I’ll tell you.”
She paused as though she were trying how best to begin her story.
“I’ve left home. Left it altogether. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I tried hard to get used to things, but they got worse and worse. Then yesterday afternoon Edward was wild with me because I couldn’t—couldn’t help him in his work. I broke out and—there was a regular scene between us. We quarreled—and—I came away here—what am I to do?”
“Why here?”