She was as she was, and
through no fault of hers. But he was what he had made himself.
Once or twice he had felt an overwhelming remorse toward her, and
on one such occasion he had made a useless effort to break down the
barrier of her long silence.
"Don't go up-stairs, Natalie," he had begged. "I am not very
amusing, I know, but - I'll try my best. I'll promise not to touch
on anything disagreeable." He had been standing in the hail,
looking up at her on the stair-case, and he smiled. There was
pleading behind the smile, an inarticulate feeling that between
them there might at least be friendship.
"You are never disagreeable," she had said, looking down with
hostile eyes. "You are quite perfect."
"Then won't you wait?"
"Perfection bores me to tears," she said, and went on up the stairs.
On the morning of Graham's departure, however, he found her prepared
to go to the railway-station. She was red-eyed and pale, and he was
very sorry for her.
"Do you think it is wise?" he asked.
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