"I want you--if you will--to tell me what is the
matter."
Muriel stood before him with her face upturned. He could not read her
expression, but he knew by her attitude that she had no thought of
repelling him.
"What is it?" he urged gently. "Won't you tell me?"
"Don't you know?" she asked him slowly.
"I only know that what we heard this afternoon upset you," he
answered. "And I don't understand it. I am asking you to explain."
"You will only think me very foolish and absurd."
There was a deep quiver in the words, and he knew that she was
trembling. Very kindly he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Can't you trust me better than that?" he asked.
She did not answer him. Her breathing became suddenly sharp and
irregular, and he realised that she was battling for self-control.
"I don't know if I can make you understand," she said at last. "But I
will try."
"Yes, try!" he said gently. "You won't find it so very difficult."
She turned back to the gate, and leaned wearily upon it.
"You are very kind. You always have been. I couldn't tell any one
else--not even Daisy. You see, she is--his friend. But you are
different. I don't think you like him, do you?"
Grange hesitated a little. "I won't go so far as to say that," he
said finally. "We get on all right.
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