I'm blundering, stupid. Lots of times I've
irritated her, and now again." He paused, but then added, with a touch of
his old stubbornness--"But they were friends of mine--she should have
treated them so."
Mrs. Rossiter felt that she did indeed hate the young man.
"Clare is very unhappy," she repeated. "She tells me that she has been
crying all night. You must remember, Peter, that her life has been very
different to yours--"
He wished that she would not repeat herself; he wished that she would not
always use the same level voice; he wanted insanely to tell her that she
ought to say "different from"--he could not take his eyes from the brooch.
But the thought of Clare came to him and he bowed himself once more humbly.
"I will see that things are better," he said earnestly. "I don't know what
has been the matter lately--my work and everything has been wrong, and
I expect my temper has been horrible. You know," he said with a little
crooked smile, "that I've got to work to keep it all going, and when I'm
writing badly then my temper goes to pieces."
Mrs. Rossiter, with no appearance of having heard anything that he had
said, continued--
"You know, Peter, that your temperament is very different to Clare's. You
are, and I know you will forgive my putting it so plainly, a little wild
still--doubtless owing to your earlier years.
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