“I don't understand you,” he said,—and looked it.
“No,” said Victoria, “I was afraid you wouldn't. And moreover, you never would. There is no use in my trying to make myself any clearer, and you'll have to keep your appointment. I hesitate to contradict you, but I am not the kind of woman you want. That is one reason I cannot marry you. And the other is, that I do not love you.”
“You can't be in love with any one else?” he cried.
“That does seem rather preposterous, I'll admit,” she answered. “But if I were, it wouldn't make any difference.”
“You won't marry me?” he said, getting to his feet. There was incredulity in his voice, and a certain amount of bewilderment. The thing was indeed incredible!
“No,” said Victoria, “I won't.”
And he had only to look into her face to see that it was so. Hitherto nil desperandum had been a good working motto, but something told him it was useless in this case. He thrust on his hat and pulled out his watch.
“Well,” he said, “that settles it. I must—say I can't see your point of view—but that settles it. I must say, too, that your refusal is something of a shock after what I had been led to expect after the past few years.”
“The person you are in love with led you to expect it, Humphrey, and that person is—yourself. You are in love temporarily with your own ideal of me.”
“And your refusal comes at an unfortunate tune for me,” he continued, not heeding her words, “when I have an affair on my hands of such magnitude, which requires concentrated thought. But I'm not a man to cry, and I'll make the best of it.”