“You’ll forgive me?”
“Perhaps.”
“I felt I must talk to you.”
“As you talked yesterday morning?”
“Why not?”
“I—I thought perhaps that you had understood.”
His full consciousness of all that was in his heart would not suffer him to feel such a thing as shame. But a great tenderness reached out to her, because he had heard her utter a cry of pain.
“Have I hurt you by coming here?”
She stared beyond him, trying to think.
“We were to live like good comrades, like fellow artists, were we not?”