"No, I couldn't," I exclaimed, like a child; "and everybody doesn't like me,"--and then I cried again, for I was really in despair, and thought he meant to put me away, memory and all.
"Well, if that's your trouble," he said, with a sigh, "I suppose I cannot help you; but I'm very sorry."
"Yes, you can help me," I cried imploringly, forgetting all I ought to have remembered; "if you only would forgive me, really and in earnest, and be friends again--and let me try--" and I covered my face with my hands.
"Pauline," he said, standing by my side, and his voice almost frightened me, it was so strong with feeling; "is this a piece of sentiment? Do you mean anything? Or am I to be trifled with again?"
He took hold of my wrists with both his hands, with such force as to give me pain, and drew them from my face.
"Look at me," he said, "and tell me what you mean; and decide now--forever and forever. For this is the last time that you will have a chance to say."
"It's all very well," I said, trying to turn my face away from him. "It's all very well to talk about loving me yet, and being just the same; but this isn't the way you used to talk, and I think it's very hard--"
"That isn't answering me," he said, holding me closer to him.
"What shall I say," I whispered, hiding my face upon his arm. "Nothing will ever satisfy you."
"Nothing ever has satisfied me," he said, "--before."