"I can go, of course, if you desire it," laying hold of his hat: "that is a simple matter; but I cannot promise to forget. To some people it may be easy, to me impossible."
"Nothing is impossible. The going is the first step. Oblivion"—with a sigh—"will quickly follow."
"I do not think so. But, since you wish my absence—"
He moves toward the door with lowered head and dejected manner.
"I did not say I wished it," in faltering tones; "I only requested you to leave me for your own sake, and because I would not make your people unhappy. Though"—piteously—"it should break my heart, I would still bid you go."
"Would it break your heart?" flinging his hat into a corner (for my own part, I don't believe he ever meant going): coming up to her, he folds her in his arms. "Forgive me, I entreat you," he says, "for what I shall never forgive myself."
The humbleness of this appeal touches Cecilia's tender heart. She makes no effort to escape from his encircling arms; she even returns one out of his many caresses.
"To think you could behave so badly to me!" she whispers, reproachfully.
"I am a brute! I know it."