I should always
despise myself. I ought to give you up for all
these reasons. Yes, I must." She looked at him intently,
and there was a tentative quality in her affirmations.
"Is this your answer?" he said. "I must submit.
If I asked too much of you, I was wrong. And--good-bye."
He held out his hand, and she put hers in it.
"You think I'm capricious and fickle!" she said.
"I can't help it--I don't know myself. I can't keep to one
thing for half a day at a time. But it's right for us
to part--yes, it must be. It must be," she repeated;
"and I shall try to remember that. Good-bye! I will try
to keep that in my mind, and you will too--you won't care,
very soon! I didn't mean THAT--no; I know how true you are;
but you will soon look at me differently; and see that
even IF there hadn't been this about Irene, I was not the
one for you. You do think so, don't you?" she pleaded,
clinging to his hand. "I am not at all what they would
like--your family; I felt that. I am little, and black,
and homely, and they don't understand my way of talking,
and now that we've lost everything--No, I'm not fit.
Good-bye. You're quite right, not to have patience with
me any longer. I've tried you enough. I ought to be
willing to marry you against their wishes if you want
me to, but I can't make the sacrifice--I'm too selfish
for that----" All at once she flung herself on his breast.
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