“Sad?” His eyes were full of mystification.
“I mean that it is sad that you should care for me. If I had only foreseen it—but I did not. You knew so little of me, how could I foresee? But on Wednesday—the way you looked at me—oh, forgive me. I—I never meant to make you care for me.”
“I do not understand,” said Arthur, shaking his head.
“That is why I wanted to see you. After what passed on Wednesday, I felt that it was best for us both that I should see you and tell you what a mistake you had made. I wanted to tell you that you must try hard to forget about it. It would be useless and cruel for me to pretend not to have understood, when you looked at me so. It was best that we should meet again, and that I should explain it to you.”
“But your explanation puts me in the dark.”
“You would not want to love a woman unless there was hope that some day you might marry her. Would not that be a great unhappiness?”
“It is not a question of want. I should love you under any and all conditions.”
“But you never, never can marry me.”
“I will not believe it until—”
“Wait. Do not say things that you may wish to unsay a moment hence. You never can marry me, for one sufficient reason—because—” She hesitated.