Vivian's heavily draped little
chimney-piece. On this occasion Bernard sat there with Angela, watching
the bright crackle of the wood and feeling that the charm of winter
nights had begun. These two young persons were alone together in the
gathering dusk; it was the hour before dinner, before the lamp had been
lighted.
"I insist upon making you my confession," said Bernard. "I shall be very
unhappy until you let me do it."
"Unhappy? You are the happiest of men."
"I lie upon roses, if you will; but this memory, this remorse, is
a folded rose-leaf. I was completely mistaken about you at Baden; I
thought all manner of evil of you--or at least I said it."
"Men are dull creatures," said Angela.
"I think they are. So much so that, as I look back upon that time, there
are some things I don't understand even now."
"I don't see why you should look back. People in our position are
supposed to look forward."
"You don't like those Baden days yourself," said Bernard. "You don't
like to think of them."
"What a wonderful discovery!"
Bernard looked at her a moment in the brightening fire-light.
"What part was it you tried to play there?"
Angela shook her head.
"Men are dull creatures.
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