“I understand,” he said, loftily. “I am not blind.”
“It isn't my fault,” murmured the widow, drawing patterns with her toe on the carpet, “One can't help their feelings.”
Mr. Clark gave a short, hard laugh. “What about my feelings?” he said, severely. “What about the life you have spoiled? I couldn't have believed it of you.”
“I'm sure I'm very sorry,” murmured Mrs. Bowman, “and anything that I can do I will. I never expected to see Charles again. And it was so sudden; it took me unawares. I hope we shall still be friends.”
“Friends!” exclaimed Mr. Clark, with extraordinary vigor. “With him?”
He folded his arms and regarded the pair with a bitter smile; Mrs. Bowman, quite unable to meet his eyes, still gazed intently at the floor.
“You have made me the laughing-stock of Trimington,” pursued Mr. Clark. “You have wounded me in my tenderest feelings; you have destroyed my faith in women. I shall never be the same man again. I hope that you will never find out what a terrible mistake you've made.”
Mrs. Bowman made a noise half-way between a sniff and a sob; Mr. Tucker's sniff was unmistakable.
“I will return your presents to-morrow,” said Mr. Clark, rising. “Good-by, forever!”
He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman did not look up. A second later the front door closed and she heard him walk rapidly away.