We had reached the corner. Beyond was the square, with its lights and its crowds of people and vehicles. I seized her arm.
“It shall not be good-by,” I cried, desperately. “I shall not let you go.”
“You must.”
“I sha'n't. I shall come here night after night until you consent to come back to Mayberry.”
She stopped then. But when she spoke her tone was firmer than ever.
“Then you will force me to give it up,” she said. “Before I came here I was very close to—There were days when I had little or nothing to eat, and, with no prospects, no hope, I—if you don't leave me, Mr. Knowles, if you do come here night after night, as you say, you may force me to that again. You can, of course, if you choose; I can't prevent you. But I shall NOT go back to Mayberry. Now, will you say good-by?”
She meant it. If I persisted in my determination she would do as she said; I was sure of it.
“I am sure my aunt would not wish you to continue to see me, against my will,” she went on. “If she cares for me at all she would not wish that. You have done your best to please her. I—I thank you both. Good-by.”
What could I do, or say?
“Good-by,” I faltered.