“What d’you want? I saw you hanging about Victoria. Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“I’m awfully sorry. Won’t you make it up?”
“No, I’m sick of your temper and your jealousy. I don’t care for you, I never have cared for you, and I never shall care for you. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.”
She walked on quickly, and he had to hurry to keep up with her.
“You never make allowances for me,” he said. “It’s all very well to be jolly and amiable when you’re indifferent to anyone. It’s very hard when you’re as much in love as I am. Have mercy on me. I don’t mind that you don’t care for me. After all you can’t help it. I only want you to let me love you.”
She walked on, refusing to speak, and Philip saw with agony that they had only a few hundred yards to go before they reached her house. He abased himself. He poured out an incoherent story of love and penitence.
“If you’ll only forgive me this time I promise you you’ll never have to complain of me in future. You can go out with whoever you choose. I’ll be only too glad if you’ll come with me when you’ve got nothing better to do.”
She stopped again, for they had reached the corner at which he always left her.
“Now you can take yourself off. I won’t have you coming up to the door.”
“I won’t go till you say you’ll forgive me.”