For one moment she forgets her maidenly reserve, and only remembers that in her own eyes she is his wife—in heart, if not in name.
“Oh Carl! Carl! let us marry at once—dear! and then no one can come between us two!”
“We cannot!” he says hastily.
Zai starts as if she were shot, and covers her face with her two little hands, while a burning blush surges over it.
It comes to her suddenly, the terrible, terrible shame, of her having asked—of his rejection—and then the colour leaves her cheek.
She leans against the balustrade, with the moonlight falling on a face white as undriven snow. Her eyes have a dumb misery in their depths, and her mouth quivers like a child’s.
“Oh Zai! forgive me if I hurt you by saying we cannot marry!” he whispers brokenly, for her white face and trembling lips move him strangely, worldling as he is. “You know very well how I am placed! I have nothing but my salary, and that is dependent on health; and if I don’t marry some girl with money, I don’t know what will become of me, Zai!”
A deep silence ensues for a minute or two. Up above the glorious moon sails serenely along, and a few feathery clouds float athwart the great sapphire plain of sky. From within, the sound of music is carried out on the fragrant night, but human eyes and human voices are nowhere near.
These two are alone, entirely alone, on this isolated balcony, and they have for many months played at making love.
Listen then in what passionate words Belgravians and worldlings say farewell, if farewell must be said by them.