"You may go, I tell you, back to Moreau's on the 1st of October."
"I mean that I can not marry Mr. Dexter."
"No one asks you to marry him now."
"I can never marry him."
"Why?" said Miss Vanhorn, with rising color. "Be careful what you say. No lies."
"I—I am engaged to Rast."
"Lie number one. Look at me. If your engagement was ended, then would you marry Mr. Dexter?"
Anne half rose, as if to escape, but sank back again. "I could not marry him, because I do not love him," she answered.
"And whom do you love, that you know so much about it, and have your 'do not' and 'can not' so promptly ready? Never tell me that it is that boy upon the island who has taught you all these new ways, this faltering and fear of looking in my face, of which you knew nothing when you came. Do you wish me to tell you what I think of you?"
"No," cried the girl, rushing forward, and falling on her knees beside the arm-chair; "tell me nothing. Only let me go away. I can not, can not stay here; I am too wretched, too weak. You can not have a lower opinion of me than I have of myself at this moment. If you have any compassion for me—for the memory of my mother—say no more, and let me go." She bowed her head upon the arm of the chair and sobbed aloud.