"What do you want? Why did you come in?" she asked, but rather in
bewilderment than anger.

"I was passing on my way upstairs, and--and you seemed to be in distress."

"Did I make such a noise as that?" said she. "I'm as bad as a child; but
children cry because they mustn't do things, and I because I must."

We appeared to be going to talk. I shut the door.

"My intrusion is most impertinent," said I. "You have every right to
resent it."

"Oh, have I the right to resent anything? Did you think so this morning?"
she asked impetuously.

"The morning," I observed, "is a terribly righteous time with me. I must
beg your pardon for what I said."

"You think the same still?" she retorted quickly.

"That is no excuse for having said it," I returned. "It was not my
affair."

"It is nobody's affair, I suppose, but mine."

"Unless you allow it to be," said I. I could not endure the desolation her
words and tone implied.

She looked at me curiously.