“My dear!” he said.
She made no move towards him. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of a chair, her gaze fixed on the carpet.
“There seems only one thing to do,” she resumed in an expressionless voice... “There is only one thing,—no decent minded woman would consider any other course.”
“You mean parting?” he said, and his face hardened.
“Yes,—parting,” she echoed, and lifted her gaze and scrutinised him intently. “It won’t undo the evil; but it sets things right, as far as it is possible to right them now.”
“Look here!” he cried. He went to her and knelt on the chair upon which she leaned and looked up into her face... “Could you part from me? ... Could you? Think what we have been to one another,—all that our love has meant, and then think of being apart,—always,—never seeing one another even... Could you do it, Pam?”
Her troubled eyes met his, clouded with a mist of tears.
“Don’t!” she muttered, and put a hand quickly to her throat. “I’ve been thinking about it—like that all day.”
“And you can’t face it!” he said. He laid a hand firmly upon hers where it rested upon the back of the chair. “My dear... you can’t face it... I can’t face it. I’ve looked at the matter all round; and I can’t face parting now any better than I could face renunciation five years ago. It’s out of the question. It can’t be, Pamela. We’ve gone a long way beyond that.”
“But the other thing,—to stay,—that’s impossible too.”