"Nearer—and dearer, Mrs. Cassilis? What a foolish world it was! Suppose we had become nearer, and therefore very much less dear."
"Be kind to me, Lawrence."
"I will be whatever you like, Mrs. Cassilis—except what I was—provided you do not call me Lawrence any more. Come, let us be reasonable. The past is gone; in deference to your wishes I removed myself from the scene; I went abroad; I transported myself for four years; then I saw the announcement of your marriage in the paper by accident. And I came home again, because of your own free will and accord you had given me my release. Is this true?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Then, in the name of Heaven, why seek to revive the past? Believe me, I have forgotten the few days of madness and repentance. They are gone. Some ghosts of the past come to me, but they do not take the shape of Victoria Pengelley."
"Suppose we cannot forget?"
"Then we must forget. Victoria—Mrs. Cassilis, rouse yourself. Think of what you are—what you have made yourself."
"I do think. I think every day."
"You have a husband and a child; you have your position in the world. Mrs. Cassilis, you have your honour."
"My honour!" she echoed. "What honour? And if all were known! Lawrence, don't you even pity me?"