"You've no right to stay here prattling when I bid you go."
"None; and I'm not going to stay and prattle. But answer that you shall. I've a right at least to ask that question."
The girl almost wrung her hands, and half turned from him without speaking; but he approached and imprisoned both her arms.
"You must tell me. I can do nothing until I know, Your very own lips must tell me."
"You don't ask me if I love you?"
"Answer the other question and I shall know."
"Blind—blind—selfish egotists—all of you," she cried. Then her voice changed. "Is it my fault if I do love him?" she asked.
"I'm no judge. To part right and wrong was a task beyond me always—excepting on general, crude principles. Answer my question."
"Then, I do."
He bent his head.