The whole episode had presented itself to him as a difficult problem which he was to solve.

The accident to himself had been an imperfection in the solution, of which he was deeply ashamed.
But he was somewhat consoled by the reflection that the old gentleman had really needed preservation on his own account.
"That does make it better," said he, half to himself, with the first approach to good-humor he had shown since his misfortune.
Cornelia still remained glowing in the door-way, turning the latch backward and forward, not knowing what more to say, and yet unwilling to say nothing more.

She did not at all comprehend Bressant's attitude, and therefore admired him all the more.

What she could not understand in him was, of course, beyond her scope.
"You may think nothing of it, but I know I--I know we do--I can't say what I want to, and I'm not going to try any more; but I'm sure you know--or, at least, you'll find out some time--in some other way, you know." Bressant could not hear all this, nor would he have known what it meant, if he had; but he could see that Cornelia was kindly disposed toward him, and was conscious of great pleasure in looking at her, and thought, if she were to touch him, he would get well.

He said nothing, however, and presently his bodily pain caused him to sigh and close his eyes wearily.