"Oh, don't think I'm staying," she answered, "because I think you so
splendid that I can't leave you. I don't think you splendid at all.
And it's not because I think myself splendid either. I'm being quite
selfish about it. I'm staying simply because I'm happier so."
"You'd much better not," he repeated.
"Is that a bargain?"
"Yes, if you like," he answered, looking at her with puzzled eyes.
It was the first long conversation that they had had. After it, he
was no nicer than before. He never kissed her, he never touched her,
he seldom talked to her; when she talked, he seemed to be little
interested. For hours he lay there, looking in front of him, saying
nothing. When the little doctor came they wrangled and fought
together but seemed to like one another.
Through it all Maggie could see that he was riddled with deep shame
and self-contempt and haunted, always, by the thought of his father.
She longed to speak to him about his father's death, but as yet she
did not dare. If once she could persuade him that that had not been
his fault, she could, she thought, really help him. That was the
secret canker at his heart and she could not touch it.
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