“If the worst is to befall me,” said Traflford, with more energy than he had shown before, “I 'll no more be a burden to you than to any other of my friends. You shall hear little more of me; but if fortune is going to give me her last chance, will you give me one also?”
“What do you mean?” said Tom, curtly.
“I mean,” stammered out Trafford, whose color came and went with agitation as he spoke,—“I mean, shall I have your leave—that is, may I go over to Maddalena?—may I—O Tom,” burst he out at last, “you know well what hope my heart clings to.”
“If there was nothing but a question of money in the way,” broke in Tom, boldly, “I don't see how beggars like ourselves could start very strong objections. That a man's poverty should separate him from us would be a little too absurd; but there 's more than that in it. You have got into some scrape or other. I don't want to force a confidence—I don't want to hear about it. It's enough for me that you are not a free man.”
“If I can satisfy you that this is not the case—”
“It won't do to satisfy me,” said Tom, with a strong emphasis on the last word.
“I mean, if I can show that nothing unworthy, nothing dishonorable, attaches to me.”
“I don't suspect all that would suffice. It's not a question of your integrity or your honor. It's the simple matter whether when professing to care for one woman you made love to another?”
“If I can disprove that. It 's a long story—”
“Then, for Heaven's sake, don't tell it to me.”