"That _you_ should accuse _me!_ Money! What was money to me in comparison with your love?
But you--you----" He does not go on: it is so hard to condemn her.

He is looking at her in the tender light with eyes that seek to read her heart, and he is very pale.

She can see that, in spite of the warm, pink glow of the lamps behind them.
"Well--and I ?" questions she, with deep agitation.
How handsome he is! how lovable! Oh for the good sweet past she has so madly flung aside! "You refused me," says he slowly, "you, on whom my soul was set." "For your own good," in a stifled voice.
"Don't repeat that wretched formula," exclaims he vehemently.

"It means nothing.

It was not for my good.