"With me?"
"Yes; you seem so excited."
"Oh, nothing," he said, shrinking from the sharpness of that scrutiny in a woman's eyes, which, when it begins the perusal of a man's soul, astonishes and intimidates him; he never perhaps becomes able to endure it with perfect self-control. "I suppose a slight degree of excitement in meeting you may be forgiven me." He smiled under the unrelaxed severity of her gaze.
"Was Mrs. Bowen saying anything about me?"
"Not a word," said Colville, glad of getting back to the firm truth again, even if it were mere literality.
"We have made it up," she said, her scrutiny changing to a lovely appeal for his approval. "What there was to make up."
"Yes?"
"I told her what you had said. And now it's all right between us, and you mustn't be troubled at that any more. I did it to please you."
She seemed to ask him with the last words whether she really had pleased him, as if something in his aspect suggested a doubt; and he hastened to reassure her. "That was very good of you. I appreciate it highly. It's extremely gratifying."
She broke into a laugh of fond derision. "I don't believe you really cared about it, or else you're not thinking about it now. Sit down here; I want to tell you of something I've thought out." She pulled him to the sofa, and put his arm about her waist, with a simple fearlessness and matter-of-course promptness that made him shudder. He felt that he ought to tell her not to do it, but he did not quite know how without wounding her. She took hold of his hand and drew his lax arm taut. Then she looked up into his eyes, as if some sense of his misgiving had conveyed itself to her, but she did not release her hold of his hand.