"Why to-morrow?" He spoke stupidly. Fear had made him stupid. "Why to-morrow?"
"Because I am going to-morrow."
Then he knew that it was indeed all over. The door which had been open to him was about to close; and once closed it would never be open to him again.
"What must you think of me—"
"I think you have done very wrong, and that our talking about it only makes it worse. And so—I'm sorry—but I must ask you to leave me."
But he did not leave her. "And I must ask you to forgive me," he said gently.
"I? I have nothing to forgive. You haven't done anything to me. But I should never forgive you if I thought this foolishness could make one moment's difference to—to Flossie."
"It never has made any difference to her," he replied coldly, "or to my feeling for her. I never felt towards any woman as I feel towards you. It isn't the same thing at all. Heaven knows I thought I cared enough for her to marry her. But it seems I didn't. That's why I say it makes no difference to her. Nothing is altered by it. As far as Flossie is concerned, whether I marry her or not I shall have behaved abominably. I don't know which is the more dishonourable."
"Don't you?"
"No. I only know which I'm going to do."