"
She looked at him with a curious, gentle wistfulness on her
lovely face.
"Monsieur, it is not you whom I doubt. It is myself."
"You mean your feelings towards me?"
"Yes."
"But that I can understand. After what has happened... "
"It was always so, monsieur," she interrupted quietly. "You
speak of me as if lost to you by your own action. That is to say
too much. Let me be frank with you. Monsieur, I was never yours
to lose. I am conscious of the honour that you do me. I esteem
you very deeply... "
"But, then," he cried, on a high note of confidence, "from such
a beginning... "
"Who shall assure me that it is a beginning? May it not be the
whole? Had I held you in affection, monsieur, I should have sent
for you after the affair of which you have spoken. I should at
least not have condemned you without hearing your explanation. As
it was... " She shrugged, smiling gently, sadly. "You see... "
But his optimism far from being crushed was stimulated. "But it
is to give me hope, mademoiselle.
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