“It may interest you to know that Mr. Farley has asked me to marry him.”
“And what are you going to say?”
His face had suddenly fallen ashen gray, and his voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know—perhaps yes.”
“I thought you loved me, Hilda.”
“It’s because I love you that I shall marry Mr. Farley.”
He sprang forward passionately and seized her hands.
“Oh, but you can’t, Hilda. It’s absurd. You don’t know what you’re doing. Oh, don’t do that, for God’s sake! You’ll make both of us utterly miserable. Hilda. I love you; I can’t live without you. You don’t know how unhappy I’ve been. For months I’ve dreaded going home. When I saw my house as I walked along, I almost turned sick. You don’t know how fervently I wished that I’d got killed in the war. I can’t go on.”
“But you must,” she said; “it’s your duty.”
“Oh, I think I’ve had enough of duty and honour. I’ve used up all my principles in the last year. I know I brought the whole thing on myself. I was weak and stupid, and I must take the consequences. But I haven’t the strength; I don’t love—my wife.”