Darcy had flushed.
'I'm in a very delicate position,' said Darcy. 'I've got to explain to you something that a man can't explain without looking an ass. The fact is—of course, you see, Mr. Hugo, I did all I could for her all the time. Not out of any special regard for her, but for Tudor's sake, you understand. She's awfully beautiful, and all that. I've nothing against her. But I believe I told you last year that I had been in love once. That "once" was enough. I've done with women, Mr. Hugo.'
'But how does this affect—' Hugo began to inquire, rather inimically.
'Can't you see? She doesn't want to leave Paris. I did all I could for her all the time. I've been her friend in adversity, and so on, and so on, and she's—she's—'
'What on earth are you driving at, man?'
'She's fallen in love with me. That's what I'm driving at. And now you know.'
'My dear sir,' said Hugo earnestly, 'if she is in love with you, you must marry her and make her happy.'
He did not desire to say this, but some instinct within him compelled him to utter the words.
'You told me that you loved her,' Darcy retorted.
'I told you the truth. I do.'