She rose instantly and followed him, closing the door behind her, but
standing at bay against it, her hand on the knob.

"I'm not going to touch you--you needn't be afraid," he said. Reassured
by the unsteadiness of his voice she raised her eyes to perceive that his
face was ashy, his manner nervous, apprehensive, conciliatory,--a Ditmar
she had difficulty in recognizing. "I didn't mean to frighten, to offend
you," he went on. "Something got hold of me. I was crazy, I couldn't help
it--I won't do it again, if you'll stay. I give you my word."

She did not reply. After a pause he began again, repeating himself.

"I didn't mean to do it. I was carried away--it all happened before I
knew. I--I wouldn't frighten you that way for anything in the world."

Still she was silent.

"For God's sake, speak to me!" he cried. "Say you forgive me--give me
another chance!"

But she continued to gaze at him with widened, enigmatic eyes--whether of
reproach or contempt or anger he could not say. The situation transcended
his experience. He took an uncertain step toward her, as though half
expecting her to flee, and stopped.

"Listen!" he pleaded. "I can't talk to you here. Won't you give me a
chance to explain--to put myself right? You know what I think of you, how
I respect and--admire you. If you'll only let me see you somewhere
--anywhere, outside of the office, for a little while, I can't tell you