"Please, please say no more!" begged Genevieve, her eyes bright with tears of distress. "I regard you too highly. You have my utmost esteem, my respect and friendship, my—you see he has taught me to be sincere—you have my affection. Dear friend, I shall be perfectly candid. I was a silly girl. I had never sensed the realities of life. I had a young girl's covetousness of a coronet—of a title. Yet that was not all. I felt a warm regard for you. Had you spoken before I met him, before I learned to know him—"
"Before you knew him? Then you still—? The contrast of civilization—of your own environment—has made no difference?"
"I do not say that. Yet it is not in the manner you suppose." She looked away, with a piteous attempt to smile. "It's strange how much pain can be caused by the slightest shadow of a doubt."
"Miss Genevieve! I—I shall never be able to forgive myself! For me to have said a word—it was despicable!"
"No, do not say it. Can you think me capable of misunderstanding? Dear friend, I esteem you all the more for what I know it must have cost you. But no; what I spoke of was something that was already in my own mind."
"Ah—then you, too—Miss Genevieve, it's been so good of you. Let me beg that you do not consider this as final."
"But I can promise you nothing. It would not be right to you."
"I ask only that you do not consider this final. You have admitted a shadow of a doubt. With your permission, I propose to wait until you have solved that doubt. You have given me cause to hope that, were it not for him—"
"It is not right for me to give you the slightest hope."
"But I take it. Meantime, no more annoyance to you. We'll be jolly good friends, no more. You take me?"