"Did I say 'never,—never'?"
"Yes, you did;—when I was so untrue to you."
"Were you untrue?" he asked.
"Jonathan, you remember nothing about it. It has all passed away from you just as though you were talking to Captain Glomax about the fox."
"Has it, dear?"
"I remember every word of it. I remember how you stood and how you looked, even to the hat you wore and the little switch you held in your hand,—when you asked for one little word, one glance, one slightest touch. There, now;—you shall have all my weight to bear." Then she leant upon him with both her hands, turned round her arm, glanced up into his face, and opened her lips as though speaking that little word. "Do you remember that I said I thought you had given it all up?"
"I remember that, certainly."
"And was not that untrue? Oh, Jonathan, that was such a story. Had I thought so I should have been miserable."
"Then why did you swear to me so often that you could not love me?"
"I never said so," replied Ayala; "never."