"Go away," said Linda. "Why have you come here? You know that you should not be here."
"Open the door for one moment, that you may listen to me. Open the door, and I will tell you all. I will go instantly when I have spoken to you, Linda; I will indeed."
Then she opened the door. Why should she be a barred-up prisoner in her own house? What was there that she need fear? She had done nothing that was wrong, and would do nothing wrong. Of course, she would tell her aunt. If the man would force his way into the house, climbing in through an open window, how could she help it? If her aunt chose to misbelieve her, let it be so. There was need now that she should call upon herself for strength. All heaven and earth together should not make her marry Peter Steinmarc. Nor should earth and the evil one combined make her give herself to a young man after any fashion that should disgrace her mother's memory or her father's name. If her aunt doubted her, the sorrow would be great, but she must bear it. "You have no right here," she said as soon as she was confronted with the young man. "You know that you should not be here. Go away."
"Linda, I love you."
"I don't want your love."
"And now they tell me that my cousin Peter is to be your husband."
"No, no. He will never be my husband."
"You will promise that?"
"He will never be my husband."
"Thanks, dearest; a thousand thanks for that. But your aunt is his friend. Is it not true?"