"Thank you. I am glad," she went on. "I was in the wrong; why should I not confess it? I own it frankly.—Will you not come and see papa? We are living in a hôtel garni. Have you anything to do? If not, come now with me. Papa will be very pleased to see you."
"Certainly, of course," he muttered, walking on by her side.
"But I am not taking you from any one else? Perhaps some one is waiting for you. Perhaps now—by this time—you are married."
She forced herself to look at him with her faint smile—a languid, pale courtesy which parted her lips but sadly; and her voice was mildly blank, devoid of any special interest. He started at her words; they conveyed a suggestion which had never occurred to him; a strange idea transferred from her to him; but it took no root, and perished instantly.
"Married! Oh, Eva—- no, never!" he exclaimed.
"Well, such a thing might have been," said she, coolly.
They were silent for a while; but in a few moments, Eva, touched by the tone of his last words, could no longer contain herself, and began to cry gently, like a frightened child, sobbing spasmodically as they walked on, the tears soaking her white gauze veil.
In front of their hotel she stopped, and, controlling herself for a moment, said:
"Frank, be honest with me: do you not think it odious of me to have spoken to you? I could not make up my mind what I ought to do; but I so much wanted to confess myself wrong, and ask you to forgive me. Do you despise me for doing such a thing which, perhaps, some other girl would never have done?"
"Despise you! I despise you?" cried he, with a gulp. But he could say no more, for some visitors were coming towards them—though but few were out on this windy and threatening day. They went a little further, hanging their heads like criminals under the eyes of the strangers. Then they turned into the hotel.