"Oh, my love, my love! I do love you with every thought, with every part of me—so much, so very much that my heart is breaking, I think. But, dearest, my love is such that I would be everything fair and beautiful for you, everything proud and good and noble for you if I could. But I am only Hermy Chesterton, a Tenth Avenue girl, and—my brother—So I'm going to send you away, back to your own world, back to your own kind because—because I do love you so! Ah, God, never doubt my love, but—you must go—"
"Never, Hermione, never!"
"You must! You will, I know, because your love is a big, generous love—because you are chivalrous and strong and gentle—because I beg and implore you if you have any pity for me—go—"
"But why?—Why?"
"Oh, must I tell you that—can't you understand?"
"Why must I go, Hermione?"
"Because," she murmured, her yearning arms close about him, her face close hidden against his breast, "because I'll never—marry you—now—but I love you—love you so much that I'm afraid—ah, not of you. So, I must be alone—quite alone—to fight my battle. And now—now that I've shown you all my heart, told you all my weakness, you'll go for my sake—just for my sake—won't you?"
"Yes—I'll—go!" he answered slowly.
"Away from here—to-night?"
"Yes," he answered hoarsely, "yes!"