"I do not think I said that we thought so, Monsieur Brown," she said. "I only remarked that I feared my ward was afraid lest you might do so."
"She might have known me better than that," said Browne a little reproachfully. "But perhaps you will tell me what it is you wish me to do?"
"Ah! In asking that question you bring me to the most difficult point in our interview," she replied. "I will show you why. Before I do so, however, I want you to give me your promise that you will not be offended at what I am about to say to you."
"I will certainly promise that," Browne answered.
"I am going to put your friendship to a severe test," Madame continued. She paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again it was with an abruptness that was most disconcerting. "You must be blind indeed," she said, "if you cannot see, Monsieur Browne, that Katherine loves you."
The revulsion of feeling caused by her announcement of this fact was so strong that, though Browne tried to speak, he found he was incapable of uttering a word. And yet, though she seemed so certain of what she said, there was something in the way she said it that did not ring quite true.
"Monsieur Browne," she went on, leaning a little forward and speaking with still greater earnestness, "I feel sure you will understand how much all this means, not only to her but to me. Since my poor husband's death she has been all I have had to live for, and it cuts my heart in pieces to see her so unhappy."
"But what would you have me do?" inquired Browne.
"That is the very subject I wished to speak to you about," Madame replied. Then, shaking her head sadly, she continued: "Ah, Monsieur Browne, you do not know what it is to love, and to love in vain. The favour I am going to ask of you is that you should go away; that you should not let Katherine see you again."
"But, madame," said Browne, "why should I go away? What if I love her as you say she loves me?"