"What is it, dear?" he asked.
"We can't. We must not. I had forgotten."
"Forgotten?"
"Something stands between us—we have no right. Forgive me."
"But my dear—"
"We have no right," she repeated.
"You are thinking of the past," he challenged. "Marcia, the past is dead. It is the present only in which we live—the present—just us two—who love."
"We must not love."
"But we do, sweetheart," was his triumphant cry. "We do!"