“And yet, suddenly, with nothing to explain it, you send your father to say you’ve made a mistake; and don’t want to marry me. Oh, it’s shameful, it’s too cruel.”
“Oh, Bertram, don’t speak like that,” she cried, looking at him at last.
The unhappiness of his voice was very hard to bear and she could hardly restrain a sob. He looked at her with puzzled eyes. He was so wretched that his brain was all confused.
“You loved me the other day,” he cried. “Oh, don’t be so cold. Tell me what there is to tell, Winnie. I love you so passionately. I can’t live without you.”
“Forgive me. I’m awfully sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.”
“Are you afraid because I’m poor and of mean birth? But you knew that before. Oh, I don’t understand; it seems impossible. I never dreamed you’d do this. I trusted you ten times more than I trusted myself.”
“I’m not fit to be your wife,” she sobbed.
“How can you sacrifice all that we planned so joyfully, the life of labour shoulder to shoulder and the fine struggle for our fellows?”
“I should hate it,” she answered, hoarsely.
He stared at her with surprise. He caught the immense vehemence of her expression and the little shiver of disgust that crossed her shoulders. They were silent again.