“There’s no use beginning that subject again,” she said hurriedly; “there’s no use talking about those things.”
“What things? What are you referring to?”
For a moment she felt the old helpless feeling coming over her, but she forced it aside and said, looking steadily at him:
“The things we talked about in the park the last time we met.”
She saw his dark face flush. He was too much in earnest now to be able to assert his supremacy by teasing equivocations.
“Nevertheless, I’ve come to-day to repeat those things.”
“Don’t—don’t,” she said quickly; “there’s no use. I won’t listen to them. It’s not polite to intrude into a lady’s house and try to talk about subjects she detests.”
“The time has passed for us to be polite or impolite,” he answered hotly; “we’re not the man and woman as society and the world has made them. We’re the man and woman as they are and have always been from the beginning. We’re not speaking to each other through the veils of conventionality; we’re speaking face to face. We have hearts and souls and passions. We’ve loved each other.”
“Never,” she said; “never for a moment.”
“You have a bad memory,” he answered slowly; “is it natural or cultivated?”