In the early days of their engagement, when Canon Spratte refused to hear Railing’s name mentioned, they had been used to walk together every morning. They met always at a particular spot. There were shady alleys, the scene of many pleasant conversations, which Winnie could not help remembering with delight. She dreaded the meeting he asked for, but felt that it was not in her to refuse. She had thought all night over the brief account her father had given of his interview with Bertram, and wished with all her heart now to explain personally why she had taken this step. She could not bear that he should think too hardly of her. The wounds she made seemed inevitable, but perhaps she could do something to make him see how impossible it was for her to act otherwise.
Without saying a word to her father, Winnie went out immediately after breakfast, and when she arrived at the appointed place, found Bertram already there. He greeted her without a smile. He was very pale and she felt her own face burn with shame under his sad, questioning eyes. For a few minutes they talked of indifferent things, as though they could not bring themselves to attack the subject that filled their hearts. They sat down and for a while were silent. At last he turned round and looked at her gravely.
“It’s true, then?” he said.
“I’m very sorry,” she murmured, turning her face away.
“When your father spoke to me I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. The whole thing seemed too horrible. Even now, I can’t convince myself that you really want me to give you up. I’ve not had it from your own lips yet.”
“I want you to release me, Bertram. I can’t marry you.”
“But why, why? The other day you said you loved me better than any one in the whole world. What have they done to turn you against me? Oh, I thought better of you than that, Winnie; I trusted you.”
“I was mistaken when I thought I loved you,” she whispered.
“They’re forcing you to give me up?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “No one has done anything to influence me.”