The familiar
vision of her stood close, looking things intolerably new and different.
Again came out of it that sudden liberty, that unpremeditated rush and
shock in him. He paled with indignation, with the startled resentment of
a woman wooed and hostile. His face at last expressed something
definite--it was anger. He stepped back and caught at his hat. "I am
sorry," he said, "I am sorry. I thought you infinitely above and beyond
all that."
Hilda smiled and turned away. If he choose, it was his opportunity to
go, but he stood regarding her, twirling his hat. She sat down, clasping
her knees, and looked at the floor. There was a square of sunlight on
the carpet, and motes were rising in it.
"Ah well, so did I," she said meditatively, without raising her eyes.
Then she leaned back in the chair and looked at him, in her level simple
way.
"It was a foolish theory," she said, "and--now--I can't understand it at
all. I am amazed to find that it even holds good with you."
It was so much in the tone of their usual discussions that Arnold was
conscious of a lively relief. The instinct of flight died down in him,
he looked at her with something like inquiry.
"It will always be to me curious," she went on, "that you could have
thought your part in me so limited, so poor.
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