"Yes--in the dark!" she said. "No--the weather might make you
even quieter than usual, but it wouldn't strike you so nearly
dumb. No--and it wouldn't make you seem to be under such a
strain--as if you thought only of escape!"

"But I haven't----"

"You shouldn't," she interrupted, gently. "There's nothing you
have to escape from, you know. You aren't committed to--to this
friendship."

"I'm sorry you think----" he began, but did not complete the
fragment.

She took it up. "You're sorry I think you're so different, you
mean to say, don't you? Never mind: that's what you did mean to
say, but you couldn't finish it because you're not good at
deceiving."

"Oh, no," he protested, feebly. "I'm not deceiving. I'm----"

"Never mind," she said again. "You're sorry I think you're so
different--and all in one day--since last night. Yes, your voice
SOUNDS sorry, too. It sounds sorrier than it would just because
of my thinking something you could change my mind about in a
minute so it means you're sorry you ARE different."

"No--I----"

But disregarding the faint denial, "Never mind," she said. "Do