"
Still she said nothing, but only sat still in her chair and looked at
him.
"I shall always regret," continued West, laboriously, "that my--silence,
which I assure you I meant in kindness, should have--Why do you look at
me that way, Miss Weyland?" he said, with a quick change of voice. "I
don't understand you."
Sharlee gave a small start and said: "Was I looking at you in any
particular way?"
"You looked as mournful," said West, with that same little laugh, "as
though you had lost your last friend. Now--"
"No, not my last one," said Sharlee.
"Well, don't look so sad about it," he said, in a voice of affectionate
raillery. "I am quite unhappy enough over it without--"
"I'm afraid I can't help you to feel happier--not to-night. If I look
sad, you see, it is because I feel that way."
"Sad?" he echoed, bewildered. "Why should you be sad now--when it is all
going to be straightened out--when--"
"Well, don't you think it's pretty sad--the part that can't ever be
straightened out?"
Unexpectedly she got up, and walked slowly away, a disconcerting trick
she had; wandered about the room, looking about her something like a
stranger in a picture gallery; touching a bowl of flowers here, there
setting a book to rights; and West, rising too, following her sombrely
with his eyes, had never wanted her so much in all his life.
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