"It is what I wish," said Carlisle.
And her other hand came to her heart, to his glittering pledge upon her finger....
Canning stood watching her, paling and purpling. How they had come to this he knew no more than Carlisle; and no more than she could he force his steps backward. In truth, the deeps of him had never so passionately desired her as now, yearning beyond reason or understanding to the untamed spirit. And yet ... What did he know of her, whom he thought he knew so well? She had flirted with a young drunkard, fraternized with a low crank, inextricably involved herself in the scandals of a suicide. Taxed with these things, she was wantonly rebellious, contemptuously indifferent to his wishes. Lovely and wild she stood there. And yet ...
He heard his hoarse voice saying: "Think, Carlisle. You are sure that this is what you wish ..."
"You leave me no alternative."
"Oh, but I have ... I do."
"Not one that I can accept."
"Then you force me to say good-bye."
"Good-bye."
His legs could not have heard the marching-order; he remained rooted where he stood. Ebbings and flowings of color mottled his handsome face.