‘Of course,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I never really believed you’d marry me anyway.’
‘Luckily I’m going abroad. You’d better forget all about me.’
‘It’s no good saying that,’ he said, with a brief and bitter laugh. ‘It was too late for that years ago.’
‘You must try to hate me. I deserve it.’
‘Oh, what’s the good of talking like that?’ he said impatiently. ‘Do you want me to hate you? You know you don’t.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You know perfectly well I can’t do anything except go on loving you.’
He still leaned with dejected shoulders against the porch, talking out into the garden. The eastern sky swam brightly, and the first beams of the sun shot into the garden; and the fluting clamorous chorus redoubled their enthusiasm.
‘I haven’t seen the sun rise for years. Have you, Martin?’ She came near to him and put a hand on his sleeve. At the touch he turned round and confronted her in dumb despair, his eyelashes wet.
‘Martin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’