"What have I done to you, or you to me?
How have we been enemies?
It is fate, it is poverty that has been our common enemy, Maurice, remember what we _have_ been to each other." "It is what I dare not remember," says he hoarsely.
His face is resolutely turned from hers.
"Well, well, forget, then, _if you can_.

As for me, remembrance will be my sole joy." "It is madness, Marian, to talk to me like this.

What is to be gained by it ?" "Why, nothing, nothing, and so let us forget; let us begin again as true friends only." "There is no hope of that," says he.
His voice is a mere whisper.
"Oh yes, there is--there," eagerly, _"must_ be.

What! Would you throw me over altogether, Maurice?
Oh, that I _could_ not bear! Why should we not be as brother and sister to each other?
Yes, yes," vehemently; "tell me it shall be so.

You will ask me to your new house, Maurice, won't you ?" She is looking up into his face, her hand still pressing his arm.
"My wife's house." "Your wife's house is yours, is it not?
You owe yourself something from this marriage.