"Oh, now, really—" he protested.
"But, Hugh, I know it! I feel it here." A hand strayed to rest, fluttering, above her heart. "If I should let you go ... Oh, my dear one, don't, don't go!"
"Mary," he began hoarsely, "I tell you—"
"You're only going, Hugh, because ... because I love you so I ... I am afraid to let you love me. That's true, isn't it? Hugh—it's true?"
"I can't stay ..." he muttered with a hang-dog air.
She sought support of the wall again, her body shaken by dry sobbing that it tore his heart to hear. "You—you're really going—?"
He mumbled an almost inaudible avowal of his intention.
"Hugh, you're killing me! If you leave me—"
He gave a gesture of despair and capitulation.
"I've done my best, Mary. I meant to do the right thing. I—"