her how glad he was that something had held back the Tête Jaune train, and
how wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling to
keep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained in
his writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling into
ruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, the
coldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sent
something that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. He
drew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. Joanne
Gray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see.
She was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creeping
drop--a tear.

In an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed the
tear away before she faced him.

"I've hurt you," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I've hurt you,
and God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly as
Quade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you've
been a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want to
have anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?"

"I am afraid--you have."

He reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She saw
the change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderful
laughter in his eyes.

"That's just how I set out to make you feel," he confessed, the warmth of
her hand sending a thrill through him. "I might as well be frank, don't you
think? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book.