Her head went down upon the arm of the chair; she covered her face with both hands; a childish attitude she often assumed when alone.
“I can’t, I can’t! I want to; I would if I could! it’s too late; I can’t go back and see you as you were—”
“I have asked you to forgive me.”
“I do, I do; but I do not love you as I want to love you. I shall never marry any one, you may be sure of that; I do not want to be married. Why must I? Who says I must?”
“I say so.”
“Your authority I do not recognize. The voice must come from God to my own heart.”
“Lift your head. Look at me.”
She obeyed.
“I wish you to understand that I am not to be trifled with; this is definite; this is final; I have asked and you have refused. You need not play with me thinking that I shall ask you again, I never shall. Remember, I never shall.”
“I do not wish you to ask me again.”