“I knew I should find you here,” he was saying. “You’re not angry with me for coming? I wanted to see you so badly.”
“Good heavens, why should I be angry?” smiled Winnie. “You have just as much right to come as I.”
She could not help being flattered by the passionate love which coloured every word he spoke, and her own voice gained a sweeter tenderness.
“I can’t keep away from you, Winnie. I didn’t know I loved you so much.”
“Oh, don’t, please,” she murmured, “we’ve been friends for ages. It would be absurd if we never saw one another again because—because of the other day. You know I’m always glad to see you.”
“I couldn’t take your answer as final. Oh, I don’t want to bother you and make you miserable, but don’t you care for me at all? Don’t you think that after a time you may get to like me?”
His humility touched Winnie so much that it made her answer very difficult.
“I told you the other day it was impossible.”
“Oh, I know. But then I couldn’t say what I wanted. I couldn’t understand. Like a fool, I thought you cared for me. I loved you so passionately that it seemed impossible I should be nothing to you at all.”
“Please don’t say anything more, Harry,” she said, very gently. “It’s awfully kind of you, and I don’t know how to thank you. But I can’t marry you.”