“You can’t,” I murmured rebelliously.
“—but a man can’t, with any decency, ask a girl to release him when he has sought her out and asked her to marry him.”
“Perhaps not with decency. But it is a place where this precious honor of yours might come into play. It would at least be honorable.”
“There isn’t a man who would agree with you,” he cried.
“Nor is there a woman who would agree with you,” I retorted. But both of us stretched things a little at this point.
He thought over the situation for a few minutes, then said,
“You understand that, in my opinion, Louise loves me the best.”
“The best—yes. For that very reason you must not marry her. O Charlie! try to understand,” I pleaded. “She must love the best when she loves at all. She has loved the best in you, until she has put it out of your reach ever to attain to it. It would not be fair to the girl, it would be robbing her, to accept all this beautiful love for you, and give her in return—your love for another girl. Do you suppose for an instant that you could continue to deceive her after you were married? Supposing she found out afterwards, then what? She might die of that. I cannot say. It would be enough to kill her. But not if you are honest and manly enough to tell her in time to save her self-respect. You are powerless to touch it now. You could kill it if you were married.”
“Honest and manly enough to confess myself a rascal? I don’t see where it would come in,” he replied gloomily.
“It is the nearest approach to it which lies in your power.”