“I felt it,” Sanin broke in; “but I did not know it. I have loved you from the very instant I saw you; but I did not realise at once what you had become to me! And besides, I heard that you were solemnly betrothed…. As far as your mother’s request is concerned—in the first place, how could I refuse?—and secondly, I think I carried out her request in such a way that you could guess….”
They heard a heavy tread, and a rather stout gentleman with a knapsack over his shoulder, apparently a foreigner, emerged from behind the clump, and staring, with the unceremoniousness of a tourist, at the couple sitting on the garden-seat, gave a loud cough and went on.
“Your mother,” Sanin began, as soon as the sound of the heavy footsteps had ceased, “told me your breaking off your engagement would cause a scandal”—Gemma frowned a little—that I was myself in part responsible for unpleasant gossip, and that … consequently … I was, to some extent, under an obligation to advise you not to break with your betrothed, Herr Klüber….”
“Monsieur Dimitri,” said Gemma, and she passed her hand over her hair on the side turned towards Sanin, “don’t, please, call Herr Klüber my betrothed. I shall never be his wife. I have broken with him.”
“You have broken with him? when?”
“Yesterday.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes. At our house. He came to see us.”
“Gemma? Then you love me?”
She turned to him.