“But I am not at all the same,” said Amethyst. “I can’t say that I have learned nothing, and forgotten nothing.”
“Have you forgotten that time?”
“No,” said Amethyst, with passion in her voice.
“Then you can’t have forgotten me? Are you too angry?”
“No, no.”
“Two years wouldn’t seem like two minutes, if we come together.”
“Two minutes—two ages! Lucian, I might say fifty things and put you off, and leave it doubtful. But I’ll only say one, and I surely know it. I don’t love you now.”
“You love some other man?”
“No, I don’t, but,”—with a sudden outburst, “you killed my love for you, dead, and it won’t come to life again. It’s no good—no good—for I shall never have it again—never!”
“I—surely you cannot tell. I will wait—let me come again. I had to let you know I was yours—but on your side—when I knew you had been true to me, and that I wronged you—that you really loved me, I never thought it possible your love could change.”