"I didn't mean to do it. I was carried away—it all happened before I knew. I—I wouldn't frighten you that way for anything in the world."
Still she was silent.
"For God's sake, speak to me!" he cried. "Say you forgive me—give me another chance!"
But she continued to gaze at him with widened, enigmatic eyes—whether of reproach or contempt or anger he could not say. The situation transcended his experience. He took an uncertain step toward her, as though half expecting her to flee, and stopped.
"Listen!" he pleaded. "I can't talk to you here. Won't you give me a chance to explain—to put myself right? You know what I think of you, how I respect and—admire you. If you'll only let me see you somewhere —anywhere, outside of the office, for a little while, I can't tell you how much I'd appreciate it. I'm sure you don't understand how I feel—I couldn't bear to lose you. I'll be down by the canal—near the bridge —at eight o'clock to-night. I'll wait for you. You'll come? Say you'll come, and give me another chance!"
"Aren't you going to finish your letters?" she asked.
He stared at her in sheer perplexity. "Letters!" he exclaimed. "Damn the letters! Do you think I could write any letters now?"
As a faint ray in dark waters, a gleam seemed to dance in the shadows of her eyes, yet was gone so swiftly that he could not be sure of having seen it. Had she smiled?
"I'll be there," he cried. "I'll wait for you."
She turned from him, opened the door, and went out.