They turned and faced each other. The conditions for a perfect
misunderstanding could not have been better arranged between two people.
Thatcher was a masculine reasoner, Carmen a feminine feeler,--if I may
be pardoned the expression. Thatcher wanted to get at certain facts, and
argue therefrom. Carmen wanted to get at certain feelings, and then fit
the facts to THEM.
"But I am NOT blaming you, Miss Carmen," he said gravely. "It WAS stupid
in me to confront you here with the property claimed by your uncle and
occupied by me, but it was a mistake,--no!" he added hastily, "it was
not a mistake. You knew it, and I didn't. You overlooked it before you
came, and I was too glad to overlook it after you were here."
"Of course," said Carmen pettishly, "I am the only one to be blamed.
It's like you MEN!" (Mem. She was just fifteen, and uttered this awful
'resume' of experience just as if it hadn't been taught to her in her
cradle.)
Feminine generalities always stagger a man. Thatcher said nothing.
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