He walked a little way down the path, then came back.

"Lucina," he said, brokenly, "as God is my witness--I never thought of this--I never--thought that you--could-- Oh, look at yourself, and look at me! You know that I could not have thought--oh, look at yourself, there was never anybody like you! I did not think that you could--care for or--be hurt by--_me_." "I have never seen anybody like you, not even father," Lucina said.
She looked at him with the shrinking yet loving faithfulness of a child before emotion which it cannot comprehend.

She could not understand why, if Jerome loved her and she him, there was anything to be distressed about.

She could not imagine why he was so pale and agitated, why he did not take her in his arms and kiss her again, why they could not both be happy at once.
"Oh, my God!" cried Jerome, and looked at her in a way which frightened her.
"Don't," she said, softly, shrinking a little.
"Lucina, you know how poor I am," he said, hoarsely.

"You know I--can't--marry." "I don't need much," said she.
"I couldn't--give you what you need." "Father would, then." "No, he would not.