ands.

"Let's make friends again, Philip. I'm so sorry if I offended you."

He could not prevent her from taking his hands, but he could not look at
her.

"I'm afraid it's too late," he said.

She let herself down on the floor by his side and clasped his knees.

"Philip, don't be silly. I'm quick-tempered too and I can understand that
I hurt you, but it's so stupid to sulk over it. What's the good of making
us both unhappy? It's been so jolly, our friendship." She passed her
fingers slowly over his hand. "I love you, Philip."

He got up, disengaging himself from her, and went to the other side of the
room.

"I'm awfully sorry, I can't do anything. The whole thing's over."

"D'you mean to say you don't love me any more?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You were just looking for an opportunity to throw me over and you took
that one?"

He did not answer. She looked at him steadily for a time which seemed
intolerable. She was sitting on the floor where he had left her, leaning
against the arm-chair. She began to cry quite silently, without trying to
hide her face, and the large tears rolled down her cheeks one after the
other. She did not sob. It was horribly painful to see her. Philip turned
away.

"I'm awfully sorry to hurt you. It's not my fault if I don't love you."

She did not answer. She merely sat there, as though she were overwhelmed,
and the tears flowed down her cheeks. It would have been easier to bear if
she had reproached him. He had thought her temper would get the better of
her, and he was prepared for that. At the back of his mind was a feeling
that a real quarrel, in which each said to the other cruel things, would
in some way be a justification of his behaviour. The time passed. At last
he grew frightened by her silent crying; he went into his bed-room and got
a glass of water; he leaned over her.

"Won't you drink a little? It'll relieve you."

She put her lips listlessly to the glass and drank two or three mouthfuls.
Then in an exhausted whisper she asked him for a handkerchief. She dried
her eyes.

"Of course I knew you never loved me as much as I loved you," she moaned.

"I'm afraid that's always the case," he said. "There's always one who
loves and one who lets himself be loved."

He thought of Mildred, and a bitter pain traversed his heart. Norah did
not answer for a long time.

"I'd been so miserably unhappy, and my life was so hateful," she said at
last.

She did not speak to him, bu