found himself in an extremely
awkward position, with issues he had not contemplated, and all he cared
for was to avert the immediate peril of public discovery. The
easy-going, kindly fellow had never considered all the responsibility
involved in making mild love--timorously selfish from the first--to a
married woman who took his advances with desperate seriousness. He had
not in him the stuff of vigorous rascality, still less the only other
quality which can support a man in such a situation as this--heroism of
moral revolt. So he cut a very poor figure, and was dolefully aware of
it. He talked, talked; trying to disguise his feebleness in tinsel
phrases; and Monica still kept her eyes cast down.

When another half-hour had passed, she sighed deeply and rose from her
seat. She would write to him, she said, and let him know where a reply
would reach her. No, she must not come here again; all he had to tell
her would be communicated by letter. The subdued tone, the simple
sadness of her words, distressed Bevis, and yet he secretly
congratulated himself. He had done nothing for which this woman could
justly reproach him; marvellous--so he considered--had been his
self-restraint; absolutely, he had behaved 'like a gentleman.' To be
sure, he was miserably in love, and, if circumstances by any means
allowed of it, would send for Monica to join him in France. Should the
thing prove impossible, he had nothing whatever on his conscience.

He held out his arms to her. Monica shook her head and looked away.

'Say once more that you love me, darling,' he pleaded. 'I shall not
rest for an hour until I am able to write and say, "Come to me."'

She permitted him to hold her once more in his soft embrace.

'Kiss me, Monica!'

She put her lips to his cheek, and withdrew them, still shunning his
look.

'Oh, not that kind of kiss. Like you kissed me before.'

'I can't,' she replied, with choking voice, the tears again starting
forth.

'But what have I done that you should love me less, dearest?'

He kissed the falling drops, murmuring assurances, encouragements.

'You shan't leave me until I have heard you say that your love is
unchanged. Whisper it to me, sweetest!'

'When we meet again--not now.'

'You frighten me. Monica, we are not saying good-bye for ever?'

'If you send for me I _will_ come.'

'You promise faithfully? You will come?'

'If you send for me I will come.'

That was her last word. He opened the door