"Remembered!" he echoed. "I have never forgotten."
"No, no," she replied, shaking her head, winking back the tears. "You don't understand. I spoke before I thought. You don't understand."
"I do, believe me, I do," he exclaimed. "I understand you better than you understand yourself."
Laura's answer was a cry.
"Oh, then, why did you ever leave me—you who did understand me? Why did you leave me only because I told you to go? Why didn't you make me love you then? Why didn't you make me understand myself?" She clasped her hands tight together upon her breast; her words, torn by her sobs, came all but incoherent from behind her shut teeth. "No, no!" she exclaimed, as he made towards her. "Don't touch me, don't touch me! It is too late."
"It is not too late. Listen—listen to me."
"Oh, why weren't you a man, strong enough to know a woman's weakness? You can only torture me now. Ah, I hate you! I hate you!"
"You love me! I tell you, you love me!" he cried, passionately, and before she was aware of it she was in his arms, his lips were against her lips, were on her shoulders, her neck.
"You love me!" he cried. "You love me! I defy you to say you do not."
"Oh, make me love you, then," she answered. "Make me believe that you do love me."