A flush had come to her
cheeks, and her eyes were very bright. "I asked you," she repeated, "not
to talk."
My eyes questioned her mutely.
She put her hand on my chest. Her eyes were tormented.
"How can I answer you now?" she said.
"How can I say anything now?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She made no answer.
"Do you mean it must be 'No'?"
She nodded.
"But" I said, and my whole soul was full of accusations.
"I know," she said. "I can't explain. I can't. But it has to be 'No!' It
can't be. It's utterly, finally, for ever impossible.... Keep your hands
still!"
"But," I said, "when we met again--"
"I can't marry. I can't and won't."
She stood up. "Why did you talk?" she cried, "couldn't you SEE?"
She seemed to have something it was impossible to say.
She came to the table beside my bed and pulled the Michaelmas daisies
awry. "Why did you talk like that?" she said in a tone of infinite
bitterness. "To begin like that!"
"But what is it?" I said. "Is it some circumstance--my social position?"
"Oh, DAMN your social position!" she cried.
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