He drew away from her with a horrified gesture. "And you would keep an innocent child—"
"No! No! I've broken with him—on account of David!"
"Broken with him!" said William King; he caught her by the wrist, and stared at her. Then with a breathless word that she could not hear, he dropped her hand and turned his face away.
Again, in their preoccupation, they stood still; this time in a great bank of shadow by the wall of the graveyard half-way up the hill.
"So you won't take him from me?" she said; "I will leave Old Chester.
You need never see me again."
"Good God!" said William King, "do you think that is what I want?"
She tried to see his face, but he had turned his back on her so that she stood behind him. Her hands were clasping and unclasping and her voice fluttering in her throat. "You won't take him?"
"Mrs. Richie," he said harshly, "do you love that man still?"
But before she could answer, he put the question aside. "No! Don't tell me. I've no right to ask. I—don't want to know. I've no right to know. It's—it's nothing to me, of course." He moved as he spoke out into the moonlight, and began to climb the pebbly road; she was a step or two behind him. When he spoke again his voice was indifferent to the point of contempt. "This side is smoother; come over here. I am glad you are not going to marry Mr. Pryor. He is not fit for you to marry."
"Not fit for—me!" she breathed.