This was done in entire silence; Angela urged him to stay no longer. But when he turned, hat in hand, to say good-bye, she stood confronting him again, very near. There was a faint flush on her smooth cheek; her woman's eyes were very bright; her look upon him was sweet, self-conscious, and wistful, oddly appealing. Rarely had he seen her look more girlishly desirable. "Mr. Garrott, why have you always been different to me since that night--of my bridge-party?" "Different?" queried Mr. Garrott. "Oh, you know you have! You know you've never really got over what I said to you--and all that dreadful misunderstanding!" And he knew then that this nice girl would go to her grave thinking of him as a lover whose confidence in his suit had been reft from him by a too sharp rebuke. Well, so be it. He was content that she should have that satisfaction: let that stand as a further liquidation of the old obligation, a bonus payment on the esteemed Kiss. "You know you've never forgiven me!" "I've never had anything to forgive you, Miss Flower." "Then you've never believed I've forgiven you! I've tried to show you that I have, that I've truly appreciated all the nice things you've done for me--but you've still been different." It was doubtless his imagination, but she seemed to be a little nearer as she said, with a pink and winsome hesitancy:-- "Can't I make you believe that I--I've really always been the same?" Extending his hand, the voluntary celibate replied, with cheerful reassurance: "I believe it now, Miss Flower. Absolutely. Positively. And now I must run." Angela did not seem to see the hand he offered. She continued to look at him, and something seemed to die out of her face,--a momentary expectancy, was it, or the mere native optimism of youth? Her gaze turned away from his face, turned back again; and then she suddenly gave a little laugh, an odd laugh, half angry, half sad:-- "Oh, I do think you're absolutely--_obtuse_!" And Charles then knew that, whether she realized it or not, Angela was giving him up. But still she did not see his farewell hand. Her eyes, going past him again, had become fixed with a new expression, arresting him, and now she said, in another tone, what he found perhaps the most interesting remark in the duologue:-- "Here's Mr. Manford back!" Charles wheeled, with a little jump. And sure enough, there, beyond the glass of the door, was the form of the young engineer, incredibly returning. Yes, there he came back again, poor, vain, grinning, flattered fool, who only the other day had said: "Charlie, she worries me."