‘Nothing but reflection—ah, sir, have pity on me—it was better not to have returned at all.’
‘Ah, is it so?—that is easily mended!’ he replied, in bitter astonishment.
‘Don’t blame—don’t kill me with scornful tones!’ she [pg 9]said, with more courage, even though the courage of despair; ‘think, as I have been thinking through these bitter weeks—oh, so bitter! It is right—it is just that you see me no more. What is there in common between us? I am a poor potter’s girl—am rude in speech and manner; you are nobly born and rich——’ Her voice trembled with extreme agitation, and she stopped abruptly as if she could trust it no longer. A smile of infinite tenderness and pity illumined his fine features.
‘Had I needed but one thing more to clench my love, you have given it me,’ he said, catching her hands again and drawing her towards him.
‘No—it were better to love one of your own station,’ she panted, trying to repulse him.
‘It is too late to tell me that. Come, look at me, child!’
‘No, I have been foolish and am to blame. I ought to have seen that your way of life cannot be mine. My father has also said it, and he is wise.’
‘Ay, he has said it, but you?’
‘I say it is truth and must be followed.’
‘Foolish! You only bind me the faster to you. Your joint wisdom is vain against my conviction. What! are we to part because a weak, foolish fancy seizes you, that your speech and bearing are not like the artificial, superfine graces of the proud dames who loll away their lives in palaces? Gods forbid! Why, there are those of your sex in Rome—ay, even in Surrentum, who would deem me as the dust beneath their feet.’