In the Cage by Henry James

Her tears helped her really to dissimulate, for she had instantly, in so public a situation, to recover herself. They had come and gone in half a minute, and she immediately explained them. "It‘s only because I'm tired. It's that-it's that! " Then she added a trifle incoherently: "I shall never see you again."

"Ah but why not? " The mere tone in which her companion asked this satisfied her once for all as to the amount of imagination for which she could count on him. It was naturally not large: it had exhausted itself in having arrived at what he had already touched upon-the sense of an intention in her poor zeal at Cocker's. But any deficiency of this kind was no fault in him: _he_ wasn't obliged to have an inferior cleverness-to have second-rate resources and virtues. It had been as if he almost really believed she had simply cried for fatigue, and he accordingly put in some kind confused plea-"You ought really to take something: won't you have something or other _somewhere_? " to which she had made no response but a headshake of a sharpness that settled it. "Why shan't we all the more keep meeting?"