"And then come back?" she added.
"Never, never, never!" I cried out.
I could see her pale under the lights.
"Oh, Hugo! don't be so ungenerous," she said. "Don't be so—so——"
She hesitated, apparently unable to continue.
"Ungenerous or not," I said, "damn the words, Teresa, this isn't a time to weigh words. It isn't in flesh and blood to come back. I can't come back. Put yourself in my place."
"Some day you'll thank me," she said.
"Very possibly," I returned. "Nobody knows what may not happen. It's conceivable, of course, I might go down on my bended knees, but really, from the way I feel at this moment, I do not think it's likely."
"You want to punish me for liking you," she said.
"Teresa," I said, "I have told you already that you are right. You insist on saving me from a humiliating position. I respect your courage and your straightforwardness. You remind me of an ancient Spartan having it out with a silly ass of a stranger who took advantage of her parents' good-nature. I am as little vain, I think, as any man, and as free from pettiness and idiotic pride— but you mustn't ask the impossible. You mustn't expect the whipped dog to come back. When I go it will be for ever."
"Then go," she said, and looked me straight in the eyes.