Her eyes filled with tears, and her breast heaved and fell quickly.
“No, no,” she cried at last. “Say no more. This subject is painful to both of us. Do not let us discuss it.”
“But I love you,” I again repeated. “I love you, Muriel!”
“Then forget me,” she answered, in a low, hoarse voice. “Forget me; for we can in future be only acquaintances—not even friends.”
“Then you have promised your lover to end your friendship with me. He is jealous of me!” I cried. “Come, speak the truth,” I added harshly.
“I have spoken the truth,” she responded, in a voice rather calmer than before.
“And you discard my love?” I said, in tones of bitter reproach.
“Yes,” she said, “it is true. I discard your love. You have spoken, and I give you my answer straightforwardly, much as it pains me.”
“But will you not reconsider?” I urged. “When you reflect that I love you, Muriel, better than all the world besides, that I will do all in my power to secure your happiness, that you shall be my sole thought night and day, will your heart not soften towards me? Will you never reflect that you treated me, your oldest friend, a little unfairly?”
“If in the future I reproach myself, I alone shall bear the pricks of conscience,” she answered, with surprising calmness.