He had flung himself into a sofa and had buried his face in his hands.
For a short time he had actually felt that he was desirous to part from her. For some minutes he had been quite sincere. The force of the words he had made use of to show Beatrice how absolutely necessary it was that they should part, had not been felt by her; those words had, however, affected him. He had felt—for the first time, in spite of his previous self-communing—that he must say good-bye to her, but he found that he was too weak to say it.
He felt a hand upon his shoulder. He could feel her gracious presence near to him, before her voice came.
“Harold,” she said, “if you had said it, I should never have had an hour’s happiness in my life. I would never have seen you again. I felt that all the happiness of my life was dependent upon your refraining from speaking those words. Cannot you see, my love, that the matter has passed out of our hands—that it is out of our power to part now? Harold, cannot you see that, let it be for good or evil—for heaven or doom—we must be together? Whatever is before us, we are not two but one—our lives are joined beyond the power of separation. I am yours; you are mine.”
He sprang to his feet. He saw that tears were in her eyes. “Let it be so,” he cried. “In God’s name let it be so. Whatever may happen, no suggestion of parting shall come from me. We stand together, and for ever, Beatrice.”
“For ever and ever,” she said.
That was how their interview came to a close.
Did he know when he had set out for her home that this would be the close of their interview—this clasping of the hands—this meeting of the lips?
Perhaps he did not. But one thing is certain: if it had not had this ending, he would have been greatly mortified.
His vanity would have received a great blow.