"Oh, please, please don't make me out such a brute."
There was real feeling in Rowena's voice. She went on a little unsteadily:
"I tried to make you see on board that I could never be anything but a friend. I was afraid of this. You would make anyone a good husband, Major Cunliffe; you are so unselfish, so tender as far as women and children are concerned. But I will be frank with you. My heart is not mine to give away. We women are foolish creatures; and I am the most foolish of my sex—I can say no more."
"You love some one else."
He murmured the words, but blank dismay was in his eyes—Rowena was absolutely, silent, then she put out her hand.
"Shake hands, and bear me no ill will. I shall live and die a single woman. Of that I feel sure, but life is full of interest to single women, and we do value friendship. May I think that I can still have yours, even if our paths in life lie apart. I wish I could give you the answer you want, but I cannot."
Major Cunliffe looked at her in a dazed sort of way. Then he wheeled round towards the window, and stood looking out with his back to her trying to bear his disappointment courageously.
Rowena sat with clasped hands and dejected mien. She was very tender-hearted, and could not bear to give pain. In a few minutes he turned to her.
"Well—you seem sure of your own mind. I will say no more. It's no good prolonging our interview. Say good-bye to Mrs. Arbuthnot. I feel I can't face her—and if ever you do happen to think differently, I hope you'll let me know."
He wrung her hand, and stumbled out of the room. Rowena watched him striding down the little path to the gate with tears in her eyes.