“But you shall never marry him!”
“Unfortunately it is beyond your power to assist me, George,” she answered, in a tone of despair. “We love each other, it is true, but we must end it all. We must not meet again,” she added, in a voice broken by emotion. “I—I cannot bear it. Indeed, I can’t.”
“Why should you say this?” he asked, reproachfully. “Loving each other as fondly as we do, we must meet. No power on earth can prevent it.”
They looked fondly into each other’s eyes. Liane saw in his intense passion and earnestness, and knew how well he loved her. Plunged in thought, she traced a semicircle in the dust with the ferrule of her sunshade.
“No,” she said at length, quite calmly. “You must forget, George. I shall leave here to marry and live away in the old château in Luxembourg as one buried. When I am wedded, my only prayer will be that we may never again meet.”
“Why?” he cried, dismayed.
“Because when I see you I always live the past over again. All those bright, happy, joyous days come back to me, together with the tragic circumstances of poor Nelly’s death—the dark shadow which fell between us, the shadow which has lengthened and deepened until it has now formed a barrier insurmountable.”
“What does Nelly’s death concern us?” he asked. “It was tragic and mysterious, certainly; nevertheless, it surely does not prevent our marriage.”
For an instant she glanced sharply at him, then lowering her gaze, answered drily,—
“Of course not.”