“My cousin? No, certainly not; why should you think so?”
“Joan said something about it, that is partly why I determined to know my fate at once.”
“You must have misunderstood her altogether. When did you see her last?”
“About a fortnight ago. I can’t remember,” he replied, impatiently. “I believe your whole thoughts are wrapped up in her.”
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to vex you. Can’t we be friends, at least?”
Up to the present moment she had indeed been thinking how she could best make a reconciliation possible between him and Joan. With a sharp pang it struck her that perhaps after all she was in the wrong.
“Listen,” he said; “I am in earnest, in bitter earnest. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Embrance.
“Thank you. I was sure of that, at least. I care so much that I can’t stay here any longer, coming to see you like a stranger, and having no right to help you in any way whatever. I have seen enough in the last few months to guess a little what your work is. No; let me say it out to the end. Before I knew you I fancied that you were selfish and indifferent. Heaven knows how wrong I was! If I can’t win your love, it is my own fault. Embrance, don’t decide in a hurry. Think it over. I love you. Give me a chance.”
They had reached the crowded thoroughfare. Gaslights were flaring; the road was thronged with cabs and carts; the people were pushing along the pavement, too busy to notice the quiet couple, or to observe that the plain girl in an ulster had a white face, and that the lines of her mouth were set with pain and suffering. Across the street, in a few minutes, they were in a dreary square. Here there were no loiterers. A murky grey sky; black trees, flinging their gaunt arms to the chimney pots; rows of melancholy stone houses, with carved heads, placidly unconcerned, gazing down from the lintels.