"You are sure?" he asked rather grimly. "This is important to me, you know."
"Yes," she said with signs of strain; "I am sure. I think I wish it had been possible, but it isn't. You have convinced me."
He was silent for a moment.
"It cuts pretty deep," he said slowly. "I've been afraid all along that even if you took me you'd never be really within my reach. I guess I've got to bear it and let you go."
He rose and stood looking at her irresolutely, and then, with a gesture of acquiescence, abruptly turned away.
When he had gone, Evelyn sat still in the gathering dusk. She had, at first, submitted to his embrace, because she wished to find in any emotion he was capable of arousing an excuse for marrying him. But she had felt nothing except repulsion. Then in a flash the truth was plain; any closer relationship than that of friend would make her loathe the man she in some ways admired. This was disturbing, but little by little she began to realize that his touch had a strange after-effect. It had stirred her to warmth, but not toward him. Longings she had not thought herself capable of awoke within her; she was conscious of a craving for love and of a curious tenderness. Only, Reggie was not the man. He had roused her, but she did not know whether she ought to be grateful for that. She blushed as she struggled with her rebellious feelings, and then resolutely pulled herself together. Her mother must be told.
Mrs. Cliffe was resting before dinner when Evelyn entered her room and sat down without speaking.
"What is the matter?" Mrs. Cliffe asked with a premonition that something had gone wrong. "Why do you come in, in this dramatic way?"
"I didn't mean to be dramatic," Evelyn answered quietly. "Still, perhaps I was rather highly strung. Reggie asked me to marry him, and I told him I could not."
Mrs. Cliffe sat up suddenly, and there was an angry sparkle in her eyes.