"Will that do?" he asked--still with his eyes on his book.
"It will _not_ do," I answered. "You are so far from really opening your heart to me, that you won't even let me know whether it is a man or a woman who stands in the way of your prospects in life. You used the word 'person,' over and over again--rather than say 'he' or 'she' when you speak of the provocation which is trying you. How can I help a man who has so little confidence in me as that?"My reply evidently found him at the end of his resources. He tried, tried desperately, to say more than he had said yet. No!
The words seemed to stick in his throat. Not one of them would pass his lips.
"Give me time," he pleaded piteously. "I can't bring myself to it, all at once. I mean well. Upon my soul, I mean well. But I am slow at this sort of thing. Wait till to-morrow."To-morrow came--and again he put it off.
"One more day!" he said. "You don't know how hard it is to speak plainly. I am half afraid; I am half ashamed. Give me one more day."I had hitherto only disliked him. Try as I might (and did) to make merciful allowance for his reserve, I began to despise him now.
VIII.