"Yes, I do now. But I—cannot ask that of you."
"Yet—you would have—taken me without—marriage."
He said, quietly:
"Marriage—or love to the full, without it—God knows how right or wrong that may be. The world outlaws those who love without it—drives them out, excommunicates, damns. . . . It may be God does, too; but—I—don't—believe it, Ailsa."
She said, whiter still: "Then I must not think of—what cannot be?"
"No," he said dully, "it cannot be."
She laid her hands against his lips in silence.
"Good night. . . . You won't leave me—too much—alone?"
"May I write to you, dear?"
"Please. And come when—when you can."