Page:E Nesbit - The Literary Sense.djvu/32

20 through a veil, and he did not see its face. If he had seen it, it would have shocked him very much.

"Tell me," he said softly, "tell me now—at last—"

Still she was silent.

"Tell me," he said again; "why did you do it? How was it you found out so very suddenly and surely that we weren't suited to each other—that was the phrase, wasn't it?"

"Do you really want to know? It's not very amusing, is it—raking out dead fires?"

"Yes, I do want to know. I've wanted it every day since," he said earnestly.

"As you say—it's all ancient history. But you used not to be stupid. Are you sure the real reason never occurred to you?"

"Never! What was it? Yes, I know: the next waltz is beginning. Don't go. Cut him, whoever he is, and stay here and tell me. I think I have a right to ask that of you."

"Oh—rights!" she said. "But it's quite simple. I threw you over, as you call it, because I found out you didn't care for me."

"I—not care for you?"