This was not the woman he loved.
His cause had never seemed so utterly hopeless as now, and yet he felt that it was not the true Chris with whom he was dealing; that the true Chris was the soft-eyed clinging girl safely enshrined in his heart.
'Chris,' he said, 'you have changed--but you'll come to me again ?' Her face was turned towards him; she shook her head with passionless decision.
'No, Harry,' she answered, 'that is all past.

I sent for you to tell you that we must forget.' 'Forget!' he cried, springing forward and seizing her hand, 'how can I forget?
Can a man forget that he loves ?' 'You will forget.

It is better, and you will live to be glad that you did.' 'Never, never! Chris, what do you mean?
Why're you talking to me of forgetting--why, why ?' 'Because I know in my heart that it must be.

I came here to tell you so, to ask you to waste no more thought on me.' 'You do not care for me, then.

Is that what you mean ?' She gave him no answer, but her steadfast eyes looked into his and their light was cold, there was no glimmer of affection in them.
'You never loved me, Chris ?' She continued silent; she had wrought herself to a certain point, to what she believed to be a duty, and she could only maintain the tension by exerting all her energies.
'What have I done to be treated like this ?' he continued.