It brought him an uncomfortable thought that he might go and comfort Janet--it was evident that something he had said had hurt her--she was growing absurdly hypersensitive.
He dismissed the idea--Heaven only knew into what complications it might lead them.

He spent the time instead in a restless walk up and down the room, revolving whether Elfrida Bell would or would not be brought to reconsider her refusal to let him take her to "Faust" that night--he never could depend upon her.
Janet had not seen John Kendal since the afternoon he came to her radiant with his intention of putting all of Elfrida's elusive charm upon canvas, full of its intrinsic difficulties, eager for her sympathy, depending on her enthusiastic interest.

She had disappointed him--she did her best, but the sympathy and enthusiasm and interest would not come.

She could not tell him why--her broken friendship was still sacred to her for what it had been.
Besides, explanations were impossible.

So she listened and approved with a strained smile, and led him, with a persistence he did not understand, to talk of other things.