VII

           Darrowwasstillstandingonherthreshold.Assheputthequestionheenteredtheroomandclosedthedoorbehindhim.

           Hisheartwasbeatingalittlefasterthanusualandhehadnoclearideaofwhathewasabouttodoorsay,beyondthedefiniteconvictionthat,whateverpassingimpulseofexpiationmovedhim,hewouldnotbefoolenoughtotellherthathehadnotsentherletter.Heknewthatmostwrongdoingworks,onthewhole,lessmischiefthanitsuselessconfession;andthiswasclearlyacasewhereapassingfollymightbeturned,byavowal,intoaseriousoffense.

           “I’msosorry—sosorry;butyoumustletmehelpyou....Youwillletmehelpyou?”hesaid.

           Hetookherhandsandpressedthemtogetherbetweenhis,countingonafriendlytouchtohelpouttheinsufficiencyofwords.Hefeltheryieldslightlytohisclasp,andhurriedonwithoutgivinghertimetoanswer.

           “Isn’titapitytospoilourgoodtimetogetherbyregrettinganythingyoumighthavedonetopreventourhavingit?”

           Shedrewback,freeingherhands.Herface,losingitslookofappealingconfidence,wassuddenlysharpenedbydistrust.

           “Youdidn’tforgettopostmyletter?”

           Darrowstoodbeforeher,constrainedandashamed,andevermorekeenlyawarethatthebetrayalofhisdistressmustbeagreateroffensethanitsconcealment.

           “Whataninsinuation!”hecried,throwingouthishandswithalaugh.

           Herfaceinstantlymeltedtolaughter.“Well,then—Iwon’tbesorry;Iwon’tregretanythingexceptthatourgoodtimeisover!”

           Thewordsweresounexpectedthattheyroutedallhisresolves.