She looks at him. It is a curious look.
"Why should I? Do you care?"
He turns away.
"Don't let us part bad friends," says she, going to him, and twining one of her hands round his arm. "What have I done to you, or you to me? How have we been enemies? It is fate, it is poverty that has been our common enemy, Maurice, remember what we have been to each other."
"It is what I dare not remember," says he hoarsely.
His face is resolutely turned from hers.
"Well, well, forget, then, if you can. As for me, remembrance will be my sole joy."
"It is madness, Marian, to talk to me like this. What is to be gained by it?"
"Why, nothing, nothing, and so let us forget; let us begin again as true friends only."
"There is no hope of that," says he.