"Won't you let me tell you," she began hurriedly, "how sorry I am--how
ashamed--that I misjudged--"
"No! No! I beg you to stop. There is not the smallest occasion for
anything of that sort--"
"Don't you see my dreadful position? I suspect you, misjudge you--wrong
you at every step--and all the time you are doing a thing so fine--so
generous and splendid--that I am humiliated--to--"
Once again she saw that painful transformation in his face: a difficult
dull-red flood sweeping over it, only to recede instantly, leaving him
white from neck to brow.
"What is the use of talking in this way?" he asked peremptorily. "What
is the good of it, I say? The matter is over and done with. Everything
is all right--his telling you wipes it all from the slate, just as I
said. Don't you see that? Well, can't you dismiss the whole incident
from your mind and forget that it ever happened?"
"I will try--if that is what you wish."
She turned away, utterly disappointed and disconcerted by his summary
disposal of the burning topic over which she had planned such a long and
satisfying discussion.
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