“And had forgotten you?” she added expressively.
“And,” with a slight tremor in his voice—“had forgotten me.”
“Never!” she returned, with passionate energy.
“Yes—you will, in time; perhaps not for two or three years—for you are not like other girls. I am your first lover—nothing can deprive me of that memory.”
“No, nothing,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.
“But, you know, they say a woman generally marries her second love,” with a laborious effort to speak steadily.
“How calmly you can discuss my lovers, and my future!” cried Honor, indignantly. “Oh, how hard you have become—how cold—how cruel!”
“Cruel—if I am cruel—only to be kind,” he replied steadily. “For, years to come, you will thank me—and think——”
“I think,” she interrupted, with a pitiful little gesture, “that when we meet so—seldom—scarcely ever—that you might be——” here her voice totally failed her.
She had grown much paler, and her breath came quickly, as she tried to keep down a sob.