"Indeed! I cannot guess what."
"I must tell her what I have decided to do. I must tell you also. I shall not see you again, Mildred. Not, at least, in the way you mean, in the way we meant," he added.
She sat down heavily.
"You were saying?" she asked.
"I was saying—that."
"Then what has happened?" she asked, spilling her tea in the saucer as she spoke.
"It has happened that I do appreciate what you do not. I wonder if all things of this sort are so crude. That is by the way. But you are as intolerable to me as I am to Marie. I have fallen in love with her. To-day I know it, fully, completely. But I came here to talk it out. Let me do so, though there is not much to say. Long ago we knew that one of us must get tired first. We settled then that it was impossible for either of us; but supposing the impossible, we should not be sentimental and reproachful. I am sorry it is me. I would sooner that it was you. But it is me."
"And the reason?" asked she.
"I do not know for certain. What I do know is that there is only one woman in the world for me. She is my wife. And she—she does not know of my existence."