The next evening he waited for her. She was alone. With Byronic gloom he stood in front of her and said:
“Annie!”
She caught her breath and stepped back a pace.
“Please,” she said. “No! I thought you would understand.”
“I understand nothing,” said Frederic; “nothing except that my life is miserable, wrecked, a thing of captivity and torture.”
“You mustn’t come to see me. It isn’t right. . . . Your . . .”
“It is right,” said Frederic. “It has all been wrong, but this is right.”
(He knew his language was stilted, but he could not give himself time to revise it.)
Annie said simply:
“Please, Mr. Frederic, it isn’t any good. It was all over long ago. Your way and my way aren’t the same.”