were alone in the library, Louise confronted him with heightened color and a voice she could barely control.
It was a pitiful little comedy. Her triumph was so short lived, and the bubble of her advantage over him so soon pricked. At the end of it she found refuge from her humiliation in tears. Eric had never seen her cry like that before, and it moved him. He felt like confessing to things he had never done, or abasing himself in some way. He understood her for the first time, and though there was something ignoble in it all, and he felt the prickings of anger, he nevertheless thought her very human, at least, in wanting to find some weakness to forgive him for.
He put his arm about her, half laughing.
"Look here, Louise, don't be so cast down. There's always the stage door—or I could forge a check to oblige, or elope with your maid. What would you like me to do?"
She made no answer, but buried her wet face in a cushion.
"Or why not just forgive me on general principles for being a stupid fellow, and not understanding you? I expect I often hurt you when I am least aware of it. We humans are like that—we understand each other's sensibilities so little.
