"Go on," she said.
"That's all there is of it."
"No!" She stopped, and then she asked, with a kind of gentle bewilderment: "What did you want to tell me for?"
"To let you break with me—if you wanted to."
"Don't you care for me any more?"
"Yes, more than ever I did. But I'm not fit for you, Cynthia. Mr.
Westover said I wasn't. I told him about it—"
"What did he say?"
"That I ought to break with you."
"But if you broke with her?"
"He told me to stick to her. He was right about you, Cynthy. I'm not fit for you, and that's a fact."