“Perhaps. I cannot tell. I have not known you very long.”
“It seems long to me—but you give me all I ask, more than I had a right to hope for. I thank you, with all my heart.”
“There is little to thank me for. Do you think I mean more than I say?” She turned her head and looked calmly into his eyes. “Do you think I am promising anything?”
“I would like to think so. But what could you promise me? You would not marry me, even if you loved me as I love you.”
“You are wrong. If I loved you, I would marry you—if I were sure that your love was real, too. But it is not. I am sure it is not. You make yourself think you love me——”
The young man’s dark face seemed to grow darker still as she watched it. There was passion in it now, but of a kind other than loving. His over sensitive nature had already taken offence.
“Please do not go on, Miss Fearing,” he said, in a low voice that trembled angrily. “You have said enough already.”
Constance drew back in extreme surprise, and looked as though she had misunderstood him.
“Why—what have I said?” she asked.
“You know what you meant. You are cruel and unjust.”