He had made no objection to such a marriage.
He had spoken no word of the constancy of his own affection.

In his heart there had been anger against her because she had spoken no such word to him,--as of course there was also in her heart against him, very bitter and very hot.

If he wished her to be true to him, why did he not say so?
If he had given her up, why did he come there at all?
Why did he ask any questions about her marriage, if on his own behalf he had no statement to make,--no assurance to give?
What was her marriage, or her refusal to be married, to him?
Was she to tell him that, as he had deserted her, and as she could not busy herself to overcome her love, therefore she was minded to wear the willow for ever?
'If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose of me, I cannot help it,' she had said.

Then he had left her, and she had been sure that for him that early game of love was a game altogether played out.

Now, as he walked along the dark paths of the town garden, something of the truth came upon him.