It isn't my fault. You had
never asked me, and he had already asked me twice."
He changed his position quickly so that the last light coming in through the
window could no longer betray his face. All at once his voice broke through
the darkness, so unlike itself that she started:
"When did you give him this promise? I have no right to ask . . . when did
you give him this promise?"
She answered as if by no will of her own:"The night of the ball--as we were
going home."
She waited until she felt that she should sink to the ground.
Then he spoke again as if rather to himself than to her, and with the
deepest sorrow and pity for them both:
"If I had gone with you that night--if I had gone with you that night--and
had asked you--you would have married me."
Her lips began to quiver and all that was in her to break down before
him--to yearn for him. In a voice neither could scarce hear she said:
"I will marry you yet!"
She listened. She waited, Out of the darkness she could distinguish not the
rustle of a movement, not a breath of sound; and at last cowering back into
herself with shame, she buried her face in her hands.
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