"No,—no,—no," she said.
"You mean that you cannot love me." And as he said this the agony of his tone struck her ear and made her feel that he was suffering. Hitherto she had thought only of herself, and had hardly recognised it as a fact that he could be thoroughly in earnest.
"Mr. Orme, I am very sorry. Do not speak as though you were angry with me. But—"
"But you cannot love me?" And then he stood again silent, for there was no reply. "Is it that, Miss Staveley, that you mean to answer? If you say that with positive assurance, I will trouble you no longer." Poor Peregrine! He was but an unskilled lover!
"No!" she sobbed forth through her tears; but he had so framed his question that he hardly knew what No meant.
"Do you mean that you cannot love me, or may I hope that a day will come—? May I speak to you again—?"
"Oh, no, no! I can answer you now. It grieves me to the heart. I know you are so good. But, Mr. Orme—"
"Well—"
"It can never, never be."
"And I must take that as answer?"