“Oh, Bertha, don’t go yet.”
“We must. I daren’t stay.”
He tried to take her in his arms, begging her eagerly to remain.
“Please don’t, Gerald,” she said. “Don’t ask me, you make me too unhappy. Don’t you see how hopeless it is? What is the use of our loving one another? You’re going away in a week and we shall never meet again. And even if you were staying, I’m married and I’m twenty-six and you’re only nineteen. My dearest, we should only make ourselves ridiculous.”
“But I can’t go away. What do I care if you’re older than I? And it’s nothing if you’re married: you don’t care for your husband and he doesn’t care two straws for you.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I saw it. I felt so sorry for you.”
“You dear boy!” murmured Bertha, almost crying. “I’ve been dreadfully unhappy. It’s true, Edward never loved me—and he didn’t treat me very well. Oh, I can’t understand how I ever cared for him.”
“I’m glad.”
“I would never allow myself to fall in love again. I suffered too much.”