“He said—he said you—you cared for me—in that way. Of course you don't—you can't. I know better. But for the moment I dared to hope. I was crazy, of course. Forgive me, Frances.”
She looked up and then down again.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said.
“Yes, there is. There is a great deal. An old—”
“Hush! hush, please. Don't speak like that. I—I thank you. I—you mustn't suppose I am not grateful. I know you pity me. I know how generous you are. But your pity—”
“It isn't pity. I should pity myself, if that were all. I love you Frances, and I shall always love you. I am not ashamed of it. I shall have that love to comfort me till I die. I am ashamed of having told you, of troubling you again, that is all.”
I was turning away, but I heard her step beside me and felt her hand upon my sleeve. I turned back again. She was looking me full in the face now and her eyes were shining.
“What Mr. Cripps said was true,” she said.
I could not believe it. I did not believe it even then.
“True!” I repeated. “No, no! You don't mean—”