“Three—four years; when she was just out of school.”
She nodded, still studying it.
“Monsieur, there is a great deal that is waiting there—a great deal of love—a great deal of nobility. A woman like that will be what you want her to be; only, don’t make her wait too long.”
I took the photograph, looked at it wondering if she had said all her thought, and slowly replaced it in my pocket.
“Mademoiselle, I, too, have been thinking over our conversation and I feel I may have given you a wrong impression—”
“How so?”
“I was only discussing something that was a remote possibility, nothing that I have really considered. I reproach myself a little; I had not the right—on her account.”
“Why?”
“Because I know now that it is quite impossible.”