This was just what Sophy had shrunk from saying. She answered very dejectedly:
"I ... I suppose so. Yes ... it's the only thing to do of course." Then she broke out in her impetuous way: "Oh, how hateful and unnecessary it all is!—how humiliating—and how sad.... I did think that friendship would be left me...."
There were tears in her voice. Amaldi turned suddenly and looked at her. The moment that she saw his eyes she knew what was coming.
"I've failed you, too," he said. "It isn't friendship that I feel for you...."
As her eyes fell away from his, he added passionately: "How could it be otherwise?... How could it be?..."
And all at once it was revealed to Sophy that he was right—that she had been blind and mistaken once again to an almost incredible degree. She sat dumb with pain, knowing less than ever what to say. And her pain told her that he was very, very dear to her, and yet that she recoiled from the mere idea of love more violently than ever. But there was no half way here, she must renounce him if she could not return his love.
Amaldi went on:
"It had to come. I meant to tell you. I hoped that I would be strong enough ... but I'm not. It's beyond me.... I can't endure it—this being near you ... knowing you are free ... loving you ... loving you ... having only your friendship. No man could endure it ... no real man...."
He broke off. The next instant he said, "Forgive me. It seems brutal to speak so ... so bluntly—but at least there must be truth between us."
Sophy said in a choked voice: