"I have, too," she faltered. "God knows what I have been through."
"But that is ended," he said, quickly. "Thank God, that is all ended, and I have come now to claim your promise?
"I cannot marry you--I cannot," she repeated.
"Why cannot you?" he demanded.
"Oh, Bernard, do not try to question me. Dear Bernard," she looked up at him beseechingly, "be so very good as not to ask me that question. Take my answer, dear, and go away."
"Go away! Doris, do you know what you are saying? I come to you in order to claim you for my own, and you tell me to go away."
"Forgive me, dear," she said, weeping now and turning away her face so that he might not see her tears. "Forgive me, dear, and go."
"I shall not. I cannot--I will not unless you say that you have ceased to love me."
"I cannot say that, Bernard, for I love you," Doris answered, "and I know that I shall never love any other man as I love you." Then she tried to rise, as she ended miserably, "Nevertheless, I cannot marry you."
"Sit still." He placed her on the seat again. "You say that you love me, and yet persist in saying you cannot marry me. I must know how that is. You must tell me, dear. I have a right to know."