And there is Effie too. No, Geoffrey, no, I have
been wicked enough to learn to love you--oh, as you were never loved
before, if it is wicked to do what one cannot help--but I am not bad
enough for this. Walk quicker, Geoffrey; we shall be late, and they will
suspect something."
Poor Beatrice, the pangs of conscience were finding her out!
"We are in a dreadful position," he said again. "Oh, dearest, I have
been to blame. I should never have come back here. It is my fault; and
though I never thought of this, I did my best to please you."
"And I thank you for it," she answered. "Do not deceive yourself,
Geoffrey. Whatever happens, promise me never for one moment to believe
that I reproached or blamed you. Why should I blame you because you won
my heart? Let me sooner blame the sea on which we floated, the beach
where we walked, the house in which we lived, and the Destiny that
brought us together. I am proud and glad to love you, dear, but I am not
so selfish as to wish to ruin you: Geoffrey--I had rather die."
"Don't talk so," he said, "I cannot bear it. What are we to do? Am I to
go away and see you no more? How can we live so, Beatrice?"
"Yes, Geoffrey," she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and gazing
up into his face, "you are to go away and see me no more, not for years
and years.
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