Their eyes met fully, and she dropped hers quickly and turned away.
“I went down to see you last night—just after you had left,” he said. “I—well, I wanted you to help me.”
“To help you? How could I help you?”
“We’re a helpless couple,” he answered, laughing nervously. Then he drew up a chair close to hers, so that he could see her face. “Yes, you can help me, and it’s just possible I can help you. You remember when I came down to see you that afternoon, and you told me something about your life and how—bad it was for you. I’ve never forgotten what you told me. It’s made me a good deal unhappy.”
“I don’t know why I told you,” she said doubtfully; “I suppose because you were the only person I knew who I thought could understand. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I’m very glad you did tell me. But something you did worried me very much—your not coming to see me. It made me angry at first and then miserable, especially as you didn’t write to say why you hadn’t been able to come.”
“I tried to write but I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t? What do you mean?” he asked keenly.
“Just, I couldn’t. Don’t ask me any more.”
“You couldn’t come to see me—you couldn’t write to me? I don’t understand.”