"If you have forgotten, it is good," he said.
"What did I say to that great question, Myles?"
"Spare me that, Honor. I have been punished enough."
"Don't generalise. What did I say?"
"That you could marry neither of us—neither Yeoland nor me—out of consideration for the other."
"And you gasped when you heard it; and I kept my word. Now the pity is that you must keep yours."
"Mine?"
"Never to ask again what I would not give then."
"Honor!"
"Hush. Don't break your word for such a trifle as a wife. I'm accustomed to doing unmaidenly, horrible things, so this doesn't hurt me as much as it would a proper-thinking, proper-feeling woman. I love you; I always have loved you since I knew you. And I suppose you love me still—more or less. He who has gone—has gone. There will never be another Christo for me, Myles. You cannot take his place; and if you were dead and he was alive, he could never have taken yours. That's my peculiarly deranged attitude. But here I sit, and I should like to be your wife, because life is short and a woman's a fool to throw away good love and starve herself when plenty is offered."