“And you love her still?”
“I have no right to.”
“She is married?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“I—I would rather not.”
Miss De Voe sat quietly for a moment, and then rose. “Dear friend,” she said, laying her hand on Peter’s shoulder, “we have both missed the great prize in life. Your lot is harder than the one I have told you about. It is very,”—Miss De Voe paused a moment,—“it is very sad to love—without being loved.”
And so ended Lispenard’s comedy.