She shivered, and drew a long, sobbing breath. Her face looked pale and cold: her voice did not sound like itself as she murmured—
"Why?"
"Because—no, I can't tell you why. Think for yourself of a reason. It is not that I love you less; and yet—yet—not for the world would I marry you now that I know what I know."
"You would not marry me because I am rich: that is it, is it not?" she asked him. "I knew that some men were proud; but I did not think that you would be so proud."
"What does it signify? There is no chance of your marrying me; you are going to marry another man—whom you do not love; we may scarcely ever see each other again after to-day. It is better so."
"If I were free," she said, slowly, "and if—if—I loved you, you would be doing wrong to leave me because—only because—I was a little richer than you. I do not think that that is your only motive. It is since you heard that I was one of the Luttrell-Murrays that you have spoken in this way."
"What if it were? The fact remains," he said, gloomily. "You do not care for me; and I—I would give my very soul for you, Elizabeth. I had better go. Think of me kindly when I am away—that is all. I see Miss Heron and the boys on the brow of the hill signalling to us. Will you excuse me if I say good-bye to you now, and walk back towards Strathleckie?"
"Must it be now?" she said, scarcely knowing what the words implied. She turned her face towards him with a look that he never forgot—a look of inexpressible regret, of yearning sweetness, of something only too like the love that he thought he had failed to win. It caused him to turn back and to lean over her with a half-whispered question—
"Would it have been possible, Elizabeth, if we had met earlier, do you think that you ever could have loved me?"
"Do you think you ought to ask me?"