"Miss Wetherell, pray forgive my rudeness," I said hastily. "I ought to have known I had no right to ask you such a question."
"And why shouldn't you?" she replied, this time turning her sweet face towards me. "No, I will tell you frankly, I should very much like to see you again."
With that all the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head. Could I be dreaming? Or had she really said she would like to see me again? I would try my luck now whatever came of it.
"You cannot think how pleasant our intercourse has been to me," I said. "And now I have to go back to my lonely, miserable existence again."
"But you should not say that; you have your work in life!"
"Yes, but what is that to me when I have no one to work for? Can you conceive anything more awful than my loneliness? Remember, as far as I know I am absolutely without kith and kin. There is not a single soul to care for me in the whole world—not one to whom my death would be a matter of the least concern."
"Oh, don't—don't say that!" Her voice faltered so that I turned from the sea and contemplated her.
"It is true, Miss Wetherell, bitterly true."
"It is not true. It cannot be true!"
"If only I could think it would be some little matter of concern to you I should go back to my work with a happier heart."