There was a moment when I thought the kisses were returned; a moment
when it seemed as if she, too might have forgotten. Almost before the
idea could shape itself in my mind, her first voluntary action made
me feel that she remembered. With a cry which was like a cry of
horror--with a strength which I doubt if I could have resisted if I had
tried--she thrust me back from her. I saw merciless anger in her eyes;
I saw merciless contempt on her lips. She looked me over, from head to
foot, as she might have looked at a stranger who had insulted her.
"You coward!" she said. "You mean, miserable, heartless coward!"
Those were her first words! The most unendurable reproach that a woman
can address to a man, was the reproach that she picked out to address to
Me.
"I remember the time, Rachel," I said, "when you could have told me that
I had offended you, in a worthier way than that. I beg your pardon."
Something of the bitterness that I felt may have communicated itself
to my voice. At the first words of my reply, her eyes, which had been
turned away the moment before, looked back at me unwillingly. She
answered in a low tone, with a sullen submission of manner which was
quite new in my experience of her.
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