"I'd better go."
He stood up and walked several paces into the garden, where he feigned to be
looking at the work she had left. Was he to break down now? Was the strength
which he had relied on in so many temptations to fail him now, when his need
was sorest?
In a few minutes he wheeled round to the bench and stopped full before her,
no longer avoiding her eyes. She had taken up the book which he had laid on
his end of the seat and was turning the pages.
"Have you read it?"
"Over and over."
"Ah! I knew I could trust you! You never disappoint. Sit down a little
while."
"I'd--better go!"
"And haven't you a word? Bring this book back to me in silence? After all I
said to you? I want to know how you feel about it--all your thoughts."
She looked up at him with a reproachful smile--
The blood had rushed guiltily into his face, and she seeing this, without
knowing what it meant, the blood rushed into hers.
"I don't understand," she said proudly and coldly, dropping her eyes and
dropping her head a little forward before him, and soon becoming very pale,
as from a death-wound.
He stood before her, trembling, trying to speak, trying not to speak.
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