“It's a very good beginning, I should think.”
“Well, don't you think you ought to say now that you're sorry you were so formidable?”
“Am I so formidable?” she asked, and then recognised that she had been trapped into a leading question.
“You are to me. Because I would like always to be sure that I had pleased you, and for the last twelve hours I've only been able to make sure that I hadn't. That's the consolation I'm going away with. I thought I'd get you to confirm my impression explicitly. That's why I wished to join you.”
“Are you—were you going away?”
“I'm going by the next boat. What's the use of staying? I should only make bad worse. Yesterday I hoped But last night spoiled everything. 'Miss Pasmer,'” he broke out, with a rush of feeling, “you must know why I came up here to Campobello.”
His steps took him a little ahead of her, and he could look back into her face as he spoke. But apparently he saw nothing in it to give him courage to go on, for he stopped, and then continued, lightly: “And I'm going away because I feel that I've made a failure of the expedition. I knew that you were supremely disgusted with me last night; but it will be a sort of comfort if you'll tell me so.”
“Oh,” said Alice, “everybody thought it was very brilliant, I'm sure.”
“And you thought it was a piece of buffoonery. Well, it was. I wish you'd say so, Miss Pasmer; though I didn't mean the playing entirely. It would be something to start from, and I want to make a beginning—turn over a new leaf. Can't you help me to inscribe a good resolution of the most iron-clad description on the stainless page? I've lain awake all night composing one. Wouldn't you like to hear it?”
“I can't see what good that would do,” she said, with some relenting toward a smile, in which he instantly prepared himself to bask.