"Can I do anything for you?" asks he, hesitating, evidently fearing to approach the desired subject.
"Nothing, thank you. I came only for a paper,—left in the blotting-book. If you wish to speak, do so quickly, as I must go." Then, as he still hesitates, "Why do you pause?"
"Because I fear incurring your displeasure once again; and surely the passages between us have been bad enough already."
"Do not fear." Coldly. "It is no longer in your power to wound me."
"True. I should not have allowed that fact to escape me. Yet hear me. It is my love urges me on."
"Your—love!" With slow and scornful disbelief.
"Yes,—mine. In spite of all that has come and gone, you know me well enough to understand how dear you still are to me. No, you need not say a word. I can see by your face that you will never pardon. There is no greater curse than to love a woman who gives one but bare tolerance in return."
"Why did you not think of all this while there was yet time?"
"One drifts—until it is too late to seek for remedies. My heaviest misfortune lies in the fact that I cannot root you from my heart."
"A terrible misfortune, no doubt,"—with a little angry flash from her azure eyes,—"but one that time will cure."