“They must have been rather peculiar people,” said Alice. “And I don't see how—so soon—” She could not realise that Mavering was then a rejected man, on whom she had voluntarily renounced all claim. A retroactive resentment which she could not control possessed her with the wish to punish those bold women for being agreeable to one who had since become everything to her, though then he was ostensibly nothing.
In a vague way, Dan felt her displeasure with that passage of his history, but no man could have fully imagined it.
“I couldn't tell half the time what I was saying or eating. I talked at random and ate at random. I guess they thought something was wrong; they asked me who was at Campobello.”
“Indeed!”
“But you may be sure I didn't give myself away. I was awfully broken up,” he concluded inconsequently.
She liked his being broken up, but she did not like the rest. She would not press the question further now. She only said rather gravely, “If it's such a short acquaintance, can you write to them in that familiar way?”
“Oh yes! Mrs. Frobisher is one of that kind.”
Alice was silent a moment before she said, “I think you'd better not write. Let it go,” she sighed.
“Yes, that's what I think,” said Dan. “Better let it go. I guess it will explain itself in the course of time. But I don't want any blots around.” He leaned over and looked her smilingly in the face.
“Oh no,” she murmured; and then suddenly she caught him round the neck, crying and sobbing. “It's only—because I wanted it to be—perfect. Oh, I wonder if I've done right? Perhaps I oughtn't to have taken you, after all; but I do love you—dearly, dearly! And I was so unhappy when I'd lost you. And now I'm afraid I shall be a trial to you—nothing but a trial.”