Obediently she sat down, her face still and sad; and West, pausing a moment to marshal his thoughts into convincing form, launched forth upon his defense.

From the first he felt that he did not make a success of it; was not doing himself justice.  Recent events, in the legislature and with reference to Meachy T. Bangor, had greatly weakened his confidence in his arguments.  Even to himself he seemed to have been strangely “easy”; his exposition sounded labored and hollow in his own ears.  But worse than this was the bottomless despondency into which the girl’s brief autobiography had strangely cast him.  A vast mysterious depression had closed over him, which entirely robbed him of his usual adroit felicity of speech.  He brought his explanation up to the publication of the unhappy article, and there abruptly broke off.

A long silence followed his ending, and at last Sharlee said:—­

“I suppose a sudden change of heart in the middle of a fight is always an unhappy thing.  It always means a good deal of pain for somebody.  Still—­sometimes they must come, and when they do, I suppose the only thing to do is to meet them honestly—­though, personally, I think I should always trust my heart against my head.  But ... if you had only come to us that first morning and frankly explained just why you deserted us—­if you had told us all this that you have just told me—­”

“That is exactly what I wanted and intended to do,” interrupted West.  “I kept silent out of regard for you.”

“Out of regard for me?”

“When I started to tell you all about it, that night at Mrs. Byrd’s, it seemed to me that you had brooded over the matter until you had gotten in an overwrought and—­overstrung condition about it.  It seemed to me the considerate thing not to force the unwelcome topic upon you, but rather to wait—­”

“But had you the right to consider my imaginary feelings in such a matter between yourself and ...?  And besides, you did not quite keep silent, you remember.  You said something that led me to think that you had discharged Mr. Surface for writing that article.”

“I did not intend you to think anything of the kind.  Anything in the least like that.  If my words were ambiguous, it was because, seeing, as I say, that you were in an overstrung condition, I thought it best to let the whole matter rest until you could look at it calmly and rationally.”

She made no reply.

“But why dwell on that part of it?” said West, beseechingly.  “It was simply a wretched misunderstanding all around.  I’m sorrier than I can tell you for my part in it.  I have been greatly to blame—­I can see that now.  Can’t you let bygones be bygones?  I have come to you voluntarily and told you—­”

“Yes, after six weeks.  Why, I was the best friend he had, Mr. West, and—­Oh, me!  How can I bear to remember what I said to him!”

She turned her face hurriedly away from him.  West, much moved, struggled on.