Her black lashes fringed her cheeks as her
head bent backward; her eyes were as dark as the water we were slipping
through. I had no idea of speaking, and yet I did speak.
"I am afraid," I heard myself saying, "that you have had bad news."
She was struggling for self-control, but her voice wavered.
"Yes," she agreed; "I am afraid I have."
"If there is anything I can do--" I was correct, but reluctant. How I
would bless her if she would go away!
But obviously she did not intend to. Quite the contrary!
"There is something," she was murmuring, "that would help me very much."
There, I had done it! I was an ass of the common or garden variety, who
first resolved to keep out of a queer business and then, because a girl
looked bothered, plunged into it up to my ears. I succeeded in hiding my
feelings, in looking wooden.
"Please tell me," I responded, "what it is."
"But--I can't explain it." Her gloved hands tightened on the railing.
"And if I ask without explaining, it will seem so--so strange."
"Doubtless," I reflected grimly. But I had to see the thing through now.
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