“How unkind you are!” said the young man, in a low tone.
“No, Geoffrey, but I am struggling—you don’t know how hard I am struggling—to be true to myself.”
“You are altogether mistaken in your idea of truth,” said Hammond, turning, and walking a little way by her side.
“I am not mistaken—I am right.”
“Well, at least allow me to explain my side of the question.”
“No, it cannot be; there shall be no explanations, I am resolved. Good-night, you must not come any further.”
She held out her hand. Hammond took it limply between his own.
“You are very cruel,” he murmured, in the lowest of voices.
He raised his hat, forgot even to bow to Priscilla, and hurried off down a side street.