"You are not happy," he declared. "I can see it, I know it. If you were, you would have told me so.... If I promise you," he went on. "If I promise you to go away now, and never to try to see you again, may I come once more—to say good-by?"
She shook her head.
"It is so little for you to grant," he pleaded, "and it is so incalculably much for me to look forward to in the little time that yet remains. I do not even ask to see you alone. I will not harass you with any heroics."
"Oh, what good will it do," she cried, wearily, "for you to see me again? Why will you make me more unhappy than I am? Why did you come back?"
"Because," he answered, steadily, "because I love you more than"—he partly raised a clenched fist and let it fall slowly upon the back of the chair, "more than any other consideration in the world."
"Don't!" she cried. "You must not. Never, never say that to me again. Will you go—please?"
"Oh, if I had not gone from you four years ago!" he cried. "If I had only stayed then! Not a day of my life since that I have not regretted it. You could have loved me then. I know it, I know it, and, God forgive me, but I know you could love me now—"
"Will you go?" she cried.
"I dare you to say you could not," he flashed out
Laura shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears. "I could not, I could not," she murmured, monotonously, over and over again. "I could not, I could not."