He followed, awe-stricken--terrified.
He touched her shoulder, but she shrank away and seemed more distressed than ever.

It was not the crying of a weak woman: these were heartrending sounds, like the sobbing of a man who has never before known tears.
"Jack--perhaps I've done something wrong--" He stammered again: "I didn't dream I was hurting you--" Then light broke upon him.
He said: "It's because you don't want to be treated like a silly girl; eh, Jack ?" But to complete his astonishment she moaned: "N-n-no! It's b-b-because you--you n-n-never _do_ t-treat me like a g-g-girl, P-P-Pierre!" He groaned heartily: "Well, I'll be damned!" And because he was thoughtful he strode away, staring at the floor.

It was then that he saw it, small and crumpled on the floor.

He picked it up--a glove of the softest leather.

He carried it back to Jacqueline.
"What's this ?" "Wh-wh-what ?" "This glove I found on the floor ?" The sobs decreased at once--broke out more violently--and then she sprang up from the bunk.
"Pierre, I've acted a regular chump.