"Did I say anything
foolish, silly--did I? Oh, I hope I didn't. What happened?"
Traill laughed good-naturedly at her apprehension.
"You didn't say a word; you just moaned and tumbled off. Pitched
against me. If I hadn't been there, you'd have fallen clean on to
the floor and perhaps hurt yourself."
She sat up, then rose unsteadily to her feet. "I am much better now!"
she declared eagerly.
He watched her incomprehensively as she walked across the floor, her
knees loose to bear her weight, her lips twitching, and her hands
doing odd little things with no meaning in them. It was forced upon
him then, the wondering why she was trying so hard to hide her
weakness. He would have imagined that a woman would like to be made
a fuss of, petted, looked after; to be allowed to lie prone upon a
couch, emitting little moans of discomfort to attract sympathy. And
he, himself, would have been quite willing to give it. But now, he
came to the conclusion more than ever that she was not a woman who
cared for the closest relationship. Such a moment as this had been
an excellent opportunity for a woman to have forced sentiment into
the position, and dragged it on from there to intimacy, to have put
out her hand to touch him, seemingly for comfort, but in reality with
an hysterical desire for some demonstration of affection.
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