"No love like ours can be a sin. It is heaven sent."
"If it only were," she sighed; then he drew her closer to him.
"It is, dearest," he said. "If you will listen to me, you will believe it, too."
"I must not listen to you, Duncan."
"Must I go away?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I was foolish to fancy I could read love in your eyes."
"Don't torture me."
"I, torture? It is you who send me from you."
"I know it, but think of the danger we are in. Leave me to-night, Duncan. To-morrow Florence will be with Mr. Wainwright's aunt, and Roswell goes to St. Louis. Dine with me at eight, perhaps I can tell you then, but not to-night. I must have time to think."