"You give me your word of honour that you won't—won't touch me?"
"Oh, yes," he said dejectedly, "I promise."
"When you began just now, you implied—you accused me as if you thought I had been—encouraging you. But, Mr. Marsden, you must know that such an accusation is unjust and untrue."
"Is it? I don't think you women much care how you lead people on."
"But indeed I do care. I should be bitterly ashamed of myself if I was not certain that I had never given you the slightest encouragement."
"Oh, never mind. What does it matter? I have made a fool of myself—that's all. Love blinds a man to plain facts."
He had raised his head again, and was looking at her. They sat side by side, and the dusk began to envelope them so that their faces were white and vague.
"At the first," he went on, "I could see that it was hopeless. If social position didn't interfere, the money would prove a barrier there'd be no getting round. You are rich, and I am poor. At the first I saw how unhappy it was going to make me. I saw it was hopeless—most of all, because I'm not a man who could consent to pose as the pensioner of a rich wife.... But then I forgot—and I began to hope. Yes, I did really hope."
"What is it you hoped for?"