"Ah," she cried, "it's you who don't understand. I mean—I mean—see me like you used to. That's all I want, Wallie. Only just to see you. That wouldn't be awful, would it? There wouldn't be any sin in that?"
Sin? It was the first time she had ever said the word. The first time, he imagined, she had formed the thought.
"Poor little girl," he said. "No, no, dear, it wouldn't do. It sounds simple, but it isn't."
"But," she said, bewildered, "I love you."
He smiled. "That's why, Maggie, that's why. You've been very sweet and very good to me. And that's why I mustn't see you. That's how you make it hard for me."
Maggie sat down and put her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.
"Will you give me some tea?" he said abruptly.
She rose.
"It's all stewed. I'll make fresh."
"No. That'll do. I can't wait."