.."
He abandoned all his defences. "I know--I ought to have realised... it was
quite natural..."
In the back of his head he heard her words "You're morose--you're wild.
Other people find you so--you're making a mess of everything and every one
knows it--"
He was humbled to the dust. If only he might make it all right with Clare,
then he would see to it--Oh! yes he would see to it--that nothing of this
kind ever happened again. From Mrs. Rossiter's standpoint he looked back
upon his life and found it all one ignoble, selfish muddle. Dear Clare!--so
eager to be happy and he had made her miserable.
"Will she forgive me?"
"Dear Clare," said Mrs. Rossiter, rising brightly and with a general air of
benevolence towards all the sinners in existence, "is the most forgiving
creature in the world."
He went down to her bedroom and found her lying on a sofa and reading a
novel.
He fell on his knees at her side--"Clare--darling--I'm a beast, a brute--"
She suddenly turned her face into the cushions and burst into passionate
crying. "Oh! it's horrible--horrible--horrible--"
He kissed her hand and then getting on to his feet again, stood looking at
her awkwardly, struggling for words with which to comfort her.
IV
And then at luncheon, there was a little, pencilled feeble note for Peter
from Norah Monogue. "Please, if you can spare half an hour come to me.
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