"I didn't mean it."
His anxiety was wasted. She had heard neither his first remark nor
the apology for it. Her thoughts had been far from the windmill
shop and its proprietor. Now, apparently awakening to present
realities, she rose and turned toward the door.
"That was all," she said, wearily. "You know the whole truth now,
Mr. Winslow. Of course you will not speak of it to any one else."
Then, noticing the hurt look upon his face, she added, "Forgive me.
I know you will not. If I had not known it I should not have
confided in you. Thank you for listening so patiently."
She was going, but he touched her arm.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered, "but--but wasn't there
somethin' else? Somethin' you wanted to ask my advice about--or--
or--somethin'?"
She smiled faintly. "Yes, there was," she admitted. "But I don't
know that it is worth while troubling you, after all. It is not
likely that you can help me. I don't see how any one can."
"Probably you're right. I--I ain't liable to be much help to
anybody. But I'm awful willin' to try. And sometimes, you know--
sometimes surprisin' things happen. 'Twas a--a mouse, or a ground
mole, wasn't it, that helped the lion in the story book out of the
scrape? . . . Not that I don't look more like a--er--giraffe than
I do like a mouse," he added.
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