When I did see you, something had happened to make that impossible.
It had not only made it impossible, but it made me unable even to
explain. I shall never forget that strange hour I spent with you. You
knew that something was the matter. But I couldn't tell you. I thought
then I never could. Seeing you, as I have to-night, I realized that I
couldn't wait another hour to tell you. But, even now, I don't feel that
I can explain. There's only one thing I am sure of--that I must say this
much: All my seeking of you, last winter, meant the full intent and
purpose to win you, if I could. And--you can never know what it meant to
me to give it up."
The last words were almost below his breath, but she heard them, heard
the uncontrollable, passionate ache of them. Plainer than the words
themselves this quality in them spoke for him.
For a moment there was silence between them again. Then he went on: "I
can't ask--I don't ask--a word from you in answer. Neither can I let
myself say more than I am saying. It wouldn't be fair to you, however you
might feel. And I want you to believe this--that not to say more takes
every bit of manhood I have."
Silence again. Then, from the woman beside him, in the clearest, low
voice, with an inflection of deep sweetness:
"Thank you, Dr. Leaver."
Suddenly he turned upon the bench--he had been staring straight before
him.
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