"I've wanted to see you," she flashed back, telling the literal truth.
Alden sighed, for there was tremulous passion in her tone—almost resentment. He had treated her badly, considering that she was his promised wife. She had been shamefully neglected, and she knew it, and the hour of reckoning had come.
For the moment he caught at the straw the situation seemed to offer him. If they should quarrel—if he could make her say harsh things, it might be easier. Instantly his better self revolted. "Coward!" he thought. "Cad!"
"I've wanted to see you," Rosemary was saying, with forced calmness, "to tell you something. I can't marry you, ever!"
"Why, Rosemary!" he returned, surprised beyond measure. "What do you mean?"
The girl rose and faced him. He rose, too, awkwardly stretching out his hand for hers. She swerved aside, and clasped her hands behind her back.
It's All a Mistake
"I mean what I said; it's plain enough, isn't it?"
"Yes," he answered, putting his hands in his pockets, "it's perfectly plain. If I've done anything to hurt or offend you in any way, I—I'm sorry." So much was true. He was sorry for Rosemary and had never been more so than at that very moment. "You'll give me a reason, won't you?" he continued.
"Reason?" she repeated, with a bitter laugh. "Oh, I have plenty of reasons!" His heart sank for a moment, then went on, evenly. "It's all a mistake—it's never been anything but a mistake. I couldn't leave Grandmother and Aunt Matilda, you know. They need me, and I shouldn't have allowed myself to forget it."