“Let them see.” It was his old recklessness. “What do we care?... Tell me now. You love me? I want to hear you say it. Say it.”
“I love you,” she said, softly.
“And you’ll marry me? Say that.”
She pushed him away and the life and youth died out of her eyes. Instead of Potter by her side she saw her father; saw him convicted of treason, a thing to be spat upon and reviled.... Her father!... This moment had been sweet—but other moments were impossible, a life of them was hideously impossible. Hers was a blood and heritage she could take to no man. No man’s life should mingle with her life to produce a child who should call his grandfather traitor.
“No!...” she cried, wildly. “You mustn’t ask. I can marry no man. I can never marry.”
“Hildegarde,” he said, his voice tense, vibrant, “listen. I don’t care. You—told me before.... It doesn’t matter. It’s as if nothing had ever happened.... I want you.”
“I can’t marry you,” she said. She clenched herself in a vise-grip of determination, became calmer. She must, she knew, convince Potter of her determination; must convince him that nothing could change her. “Potter, I’d die before I would marry you. You must believe me. It cannot be.... You’re cruel to ask me.... Please, oh, please!”
“Hildegarde!”
She shook her head. “Nothing can change me. See. Look into my eyes if you think you can make me change.”
He looked into her eyes long, beseechingly, then turned away his face. He had seen. Her will was glowing there, unconquerable. He was answered, answered finally.