She lowered her head. “It is true,” she said. “It is low and vile, but it is true.”
“Your parents need money—” I began.
She stopped me with a gesture. “Don't blame them,” she pleaded. “I am more guilty than they.”
I was proud of her as she made that confession. “You have the making of a real woman in you,” said I. “I should have wanted you even if you hadn't. But what I now see makes what I thought a folly of mine look more like wisdom.”
“I must warn you,” she said, and now she was looking directly at me, “I shall never love you.”
“Never is a long time,” replied I. “I'm old enough to be cynical about prophecy.”
“I shall never love you,” she repeated. “For many reasons you wouldn't understand. For one you will understand.”
“I understand the 'many reasons' you say are beyond me,” said I. “For, dear young lady, under this coarse exterior I assure you there's hidden a rather sharp outlook on human nature—and—well, nerves that respond to the faintest changes in you as do mine can't be altogether without sensitiveness. What's the other reason—the reason? That you think you love some one else?”
“Thank you for saying it for me,” she replied.
You can't imagine how pleased I was at having earned her gratitude, even in so little a matter. “I have thought of that,” said I. “It is of no consequence.”