“But I could make you understand them,” he said, with a sudden self-assertion which startled her. The weakest man is, after all, a man—so far as women are concerned.
“I think you had better not,” she said, hurrying her steps.
But he refused to alter his pace, and he disregarded her warning.
“They meant,” he said, “that I wanted you to know that I love you.”
There was a little pause. Dora was struck dumb by a chill sense of foreboding. It was like a momentary glance into a future full of trouble.
“I am sorry,” she said, “for that. I hope—that you may find that it is a mistake.”
“But it is not a mistake. I don't see why it should be one.”
Dora paused. She was afraid to strike. She did not know yet that it is less cruel to be cruel at once.
“It is best to look at these things practically,” she said. “And if we look at it practically we shall find that you and I are not at all likely to be happy together.”
“However I look at it, I only see that I should never be happy without you.”