"Yes-I've always asked a great deal.Of course you won't tell me.
I shall never know if you can help it.And then it's none of my business." He had spoken with a visible effort to control himself, to give a considerate form to an inconsiderate state of mind.But the sense that it was his last chance, that he loved her and had lost her, that she would think him a fool whatever he should say, suddenly gave him a lash and added a deep vibration to his low voice."You're perfectly inscrutable, and that's what makes me think you've something to hide.I tell you I don't care a straw for your cousin, but I don't mean that I don't like him.I mean that it isn't because I like him that I go away with him.I'd go if he were an idiot and you should have asked me.If you should ask me I'd go to Siberia to-morrow.Why do you want me to leave the place? You must have some reason for that; if you were as contented as you pretend you are you wouldn't care.I'd rather know the truth about you, even if it's damnable, than have come here for nothing.That isn't what I came for.
I thought I shouldn't care.I came because I wanted to assure myself that I needn't think of you any more.I haven't thought of anything else, and you're quite right to wish me to go away.But if I must go, there's no harm in my letting myself out for a single moment, is there? If you're really hurt-if he hurts you-nothing I say will hurt you.When I tell you I love you it's simply what I came for.I thought it was for something else; but it was for that.I shouldn't say it if I didn't believe I should never see you again.It's the last time-let me pluck a single flower! I've no right to say that, Iknow; and you've no right to listen.But you don't listen; you never listen, you're always thinking of something else.After this I must go, of course; so I shall at least have a reason.Your asking me is no reason, not a real one.I can't judge by your husband," he went on irrelevantly, almost incoherently; "I don't understand him; he tells me you adore each other.Why does he tell me that? What business is it of mine? When I say that to you, you look strange.But you always look strange.Yes, you've something to hide.It's none of my business-very true.But I love you," said Caspar Goodwood.
As he said, she looked strange.She turned her eyes to the door by which they had entered and raised her fan as if in warning."You've behaved so well; don't spoil it," she uttered softly.
"No one hears me.It's wonderful what you tried to put me off with.I love you as I've never loved you.""I know it.I knew it as soon as you consented to go.""You can't help it-of course not.You would if you could, but you can't, unfortunately.Unfortunately for me, I mean.I ask nothing-nothing, that is, I shouldn't.But I do ask one sole satisfaction: that you tell me-that you tell me-!""That I tell you what?"
"Whether I may pity you."
"Should you like that?" Isabel asked, trying to smile again.
"To pity you? Most assuredly! That at least would be doing something.
I'd give my life to it."
She raised her fan to her face, which it covered all except her eyes.They rested a moment on his."Don't give your life to it; but give a thought to it every now and then." And with that she went back to the Countess Gemini.
