Even if she had been angry with him she would have melted at the misery in his face. Impulsively she flung her arms about him and crushed his face against her own.
“Whatever has happened to you, Dane? Cheer up, for heaven’s sake.”
He drew away, looking doubtfully at her.
“Aren’t you angry with me?” he asked, in the manner of a penitent child.
Valerie had kicked herself more than once that day for her manner in the kitchen the night before. If she hadn’t been so tired, she told herself, she would have handled the situation more lightly.
She looked at him, seeing much more than the reaction from a night’s drinking in his eyes. And whatever she did or felt, she knew she must not fail this man in moments when he needed her understanding so desperately.
“I’m not angry with you, not the least little bit. I’ve nothing to be angry about. But I am dreadfully tired, dear. Perhaps that is what you feel.”
She threw her arms about him again and put her lips on his.
“What is the matter, Dane? Please kiss me,” she said, wondering why he did not respond. But he was in a difficult mood, confused, bruised and sick, and hating himself, he could not rise to showing care for anybody else.
They heard Bob come into the next room. Valerie wondered what she could do with Dane. She hated to let him go from her in the mood he was in.
“Are you going to stay here to-night?” she whispered.
“No. I’m going home now.”
“Can you take me with you and get me back by nine?” She saw that he softened and came nearer to her.
“Yes; will you come?”
