“It’s impossible. Don’t ask me that,” she replied unhesitatingly.
Dismayed by this refusal, when a remnant of vanity in him still persuaded him that the course he took was generous, he cried out in distress:
“My life’s happiness, and I’m not to ask you for it?”
She moved nearer to him, and her voice took on a new sweetness as she said to him:
“Another wife will give you this happiness. I’m sure of it. I want it for you.”
“There’s no other woman but you in my eyes.”
“No, no, it’s impossible. Don’t torment me.”
“Impossible? Why, Margaret? Why discourage me? You don’t love me? One day perhaps I shall know how to make you love me. You shake your head? Good God, Margaret, will you send me away without a reason?”
She seemed to search for an answer, and hesitated; then found a way round the difficulty. He watched anxiously for what she should say.
“I’m not the same girl I was last year,” she began.