"I suppose it's hopeless," he said dumbly, as her voice trailed off in a whisper.
"Yes, it is utterly hopeless," she said, and she was white to the lips.
"I—I shan't say anything more," said he. "Of course, I understand how it is. There's some one else. Only I want you to know that I love you with all my soul, Hetty. I—I don't see how I'm going to get on without you. But I—I won't distress you, dear."
"There isn't any one else, Brandon," she said in a very low voice. Her fingers tightened on his in a sort of desperation. "I know what you are thinking. It isn't Leslie. It never can be Leslie."
"Then,—then—" he stammered, the blood surging back into his heart—"there may be a chance—"
"No, no!" she cried, almost vehemently. "I can't let you go on hoping. It is wrong—-so terribly wrong, You must forget me. You must—"
He seized her other hand and held them both firmly, masterfully.
"See here, my—look at me, dearest! What is wrong? Tell me! You are unhappy. Don't be afraid to tell me. You—you DO love me?"
She drew a long breath through her half-closed lips. Her eyes darkened with pain.
"No. I don't love you. Oh, I am so sorry to have given you—"