"Well!" he rejoined—"You say 'Amadis' as though it hurt you! What now?"
"Do you mean," she said, faintly—"by—what—you—say,—do you mean—that we are—to part?"
The strained agony in her eyes compelled him to turn his own away. He got up from the settee and left her where she stood.
"We must part sooner or later," he answered, lightly—"surely you know that?"
"Surely I know that!" she repeated, with a bewildered look,—then running to him, she caught his arm—"Amadis! Amadis! You don't mean it!—say you don't mean it!—You can't mean it, if you love me! … Oh, my dearest!—if you love me! …"
She stopped, half choked by a throbbing ache in her throat,—and tottered against him as though about to fall. Alarmed at this he caught her round the waist to support her.
"Of course I love you!" he said, hurriedly—"When you are good and reasonable!—not when you behave like this! If I DON'T love you, it will be quite your own fault—"
"My own fault?" she murmured, sobbingly—"My own fault? Amadis! What have I done?"
"What have you done? It's what you are doing that matters! Giving way to temper and making me uncomfortable! Do you call that 'love'?"
She dropped her hand from his arm and drew herself away from him. She was trembling from head to foot.