“No, never in this world! I won’t be your mistress, because I don’t love you, and even if I did love you a little, I wouldn’t be your mistress, because I could never love you as much as I loved my husband and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt his child and mine.”
“Are you sure you don’t love me? Are you sure the second and more sentimental reason isn’t the true one?”
“I’m so far from loving you,” she declared, “that I couldn’t even hate you. Now perhaps you’ll go away and leave me alone? Remember what you said the other night in Naples about cherishing hopeless passions? Or was that just all nothing but beautiful talk?”
“Why don’t you love me?” he asked.
“I told you once that I could never love anybody again. You had a theory about that, I remember. Now do go away, and leave me alone.”
“Forgive me, Nancy.”
“I’ll forgive you if you let me know to a farthing what you’ve paid for me from the moment I left London.”
“That’s not forgiveness,” he said. “You needn’t be cruel. After all, it’s not unforgivable to love a woman. I loved you from the beginning. I haven’t just taken advantage of moonlight to indulge myself. At least, let me continue paying for your lessons. I’m going back to England at once; I’ll promise not to worry you any more. Do, Nancy, please do let me see you through!”
She shook her head.
“I couldn’t.”