"You have done a very wrong thing," she said slowly, "and you have placed me in a very difficult position. I do not want to lose you as a friend." She made a rapid movement of her fingers to check his exclamation. "If what you said were true, and you are too young to have said such solemn words, may I ask what right you had to say them to me?"
"What right?" he said stupidly.
"Yes, what right," she repeated, looking at him steadily with a certain wistfulness. "Are you in a position to ask me to be your wife?"
"Let me think a moment," he said, drawing a breath.
He walked away to the table, leaning his weight on it, while, without moving, she followed with a steady gaze, in which was a little pity.
"Let me help you," she said at last.
He turned and looked up for the first time, a look of wretchedness.
"It would be too bad that one moment should spoil all our friendship," she said, "and because that would hurt me I don't want it so. You are a boy, and I am not yet a woman. I have always respected you, no more so than to-day, before—before you forgot your respect toward me. I want always to keep the respect I had for you."
"Don't say any more," he said suddenly, with a lump in his throat. "I don't know why—what—why I forgot myself. Please don't take away from me your friendship. I will keep it very precious."