"I have, Alice, ever since you were a girl--even when you were--were--when you were beyond me--I loved you more than ever--I--" Her face changed, and she recoiled from him.
"Don't," she said.
"I will." He seized her hand and held it tightly. "I loved you even then better than I ever loved in my life--better than your--than any one else did." Her face whitened.
"Stop!" she cried. "Not another word. I will not listen. Release my hand." She pulled it from him forcibly, and, as he began again, she, with a gesture, stopped him.
"No--no--no! It is impossible. I will not listen."
His face changed as he looked into her face. She rose from her seat and turned away from him, taking two or three steps up and down, trying to regain control of herself.
He waited and watched her, an angry light coming into his eyes. He misread her feelings. He had made love to married women before and had not been repulsed.
She turned to him now, and with level eyes looked into his.
"You never loved me in your life. I have had men in love with me, and know when they are; but you are not one of them."
"I was--I am--" he began, stepping closer to her; but she stopped him.