“That gives us a fortnight or three weeks. The month is only a week old.”
“You do not understand.”
“If you tell me that you love another man, I shall——”
“Don’t,” she interposed with a gesture.
“It is not the coward who says this, and now it is you who do not understand me. I am not making love to you. I will never do that unless I can do it honourably; and that cannot be while you are promised to another man. But until you tell me that your heart is given to another, I shall not cease to hope and will not cease striving to win you.”
She listened to me and caught at my words. She lifted her head and with an air of half-defiant pride she made a great effort to look me straight in the eyes and take up my challenge.
“I do love—” But she could get no farther; her head fell, and she cried, “You would shame me, Burgwan.” I cried with intense earnestness:
“God forbid that I should do that, Mademoiselle. I wish I could make it all easier for you. But this is life to us both and nothing will serve but truth and candour.”
She did not answer this for some moments, but sat thinking intently, her face averted from me; and presently I said: “People have been in this plight before, and have come out of it.”
She took no notice at first and then turned with a sad, sweet smile.