“Oh you needn’t tell me—I saw them all there!” she answered.
“It must have been a dreadful scene. But you DIDN’T brave them, did you?”
“Brave them—what are you talking about? To you that idea’s incredible!” she then hopelessly sighed.
But he wouldn’t have this. “No, no—I can imagine cases.” He clearly had SOME vision of independence, though he looked awful about it.
“But this isn’t a case, hey?” she demanded. “Well then go back to them—go back,” she repeated. At this he half-threw himself across the table to seize her hands, but she drew away and, as he came nearer, pushed her chair back, springing up. “You know you didn’t come here to tell me you’re ready to give them up.”
“To give them up?” He only echoed it with all his woe at first. “I’ve been battling with them till I’m ready to drop. You don’t know how they feel—how they MUST feel.”
“Oh yes I do. All this has made me older, every hour.”
“It has made you—so extraordinarily!—more beautiful,” said Gaston Probert.
“I don’t care. Nothing will induce me to consent to any sacrifice.”
“Some sacrifice there must be. Give me time—give me time, I’ll manage it. I only wish they hadn’t seen you there in the Bois.”