"And earn the money and pay father," I repeated.
"And then come back?" she added.
"Never, never, never!" I cried out.
I could see her pale under the lights.
"Oh, Hugo! don't be so ungenerous," she said. "Don't be so--so----"
She hesitated, apparently unable to continue.
"Ungenerous or not," I said, "damn the words, Teresa, this isn't a
time to weigh words. It isn't in flesh and blood to come back. I
can't come back. Put yourself in my place."
"Some day you'll thank me," she said.
"Very possibly," I returned. "Nobody knows what may not happen.
It's conceivable, of course, I might go down on my bended knees,
but really, from the way I feel at this moment, I do not think
it's likely."
"You want to punish me for liking you," she said.
"Teresa," I said, "I have told you already that you are right. You
insist on saving me from a humiliating position. I respect your
courage and your straightforwardness. You remind me of an ancient
Spartan having it out with a silly ass of a stranger who took
advantage of her parents' good-nature. I am as little vain, I
think, as any man, and as free from pettiness and idiotic pride--
but you mustn't ask the impossible. You mustn't expect the whipped
dog to come back. When I go it will be for ever."
"Then go," she said, and looked me straight in the eyes.
"I have only one thing to ask," I said. "Smooth it over to your
father and mother. I am very fond of your father and mother,
Teresa; I don't want them to think I've acted badly, or that I
have ceased to care for them.
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