“I felt at the first there was a gulf dividing us—­and now—­this gulf is wider—­so wide it can never be crossed by either of us.  Your world is not my world, after all—­you are Geoffrey Ravenslee and I am only—­what I am.  Newport and Fifth Avenue are a long way from Hell’s Kitchen and Tenth Avenue, and they can never—­never come together.  And I—­am a thief’s sister, so please, please loose me—­oh, have mercy and—­let me go.”

His arms fell from her and, shivering, she sank beside the table, and the pale agony of her face smote him.

“But you love me, Hermione?” he pleaded.

“If I had only known,” she sighed, “I might not have learned to love you—­quite so much!  If I had only known!” Her voice was soft and low, her blue eyes wide and tearless, and because of this, he trembled.

“Hermione,” said he gently, “all this week I have been planning for you and Arthur.  I have been dreaming of our life together, yours and mine, a life so big, so wonderful, so full of happiness that I trembled, sometimes, dreading it was only a dream.  Dear, the gates of our paradise are open; will you shut me out?  Must I go back to my loneliness?”

“I shall be lonely, too!” she murmured brokenly.  “But better, oh, far better loneliness than that some day—­” she paused, her lips quivering.

“Some day, Hermione?”

“You should find that you had married not only a scrubwoman but—­the sister of a—­thief!” Suddenly she sprang to her feet, her clinging arms held him to her bosom and, drawing down his head, she pressed her mouth to his; holding him thus, she spoke, her voice low and quick and passionate: 

“Oh, my love, my love!  I do love you with every thought, with every part of me—­so much, so very much that my heart is breaking, I think.  But, dearest, my love is such that I would be everything fair and beautiful for you, everything proud and good and noble for you if I could.  But I am only Hermy Chesterton, a Tenth Avenue girl, and—­my brother—­So I’m going to send you away, back to your own world, back to your own kind because—­because I do love you so!  Ah, God, never doubt my love, but—­you must go—­”

“Never, Hermione, never!”

“You must!  You will, I know, because your love is a big, generous love—­because you are chivalrous and strong and gentle—­because I beg and implore you if you have any pity for me—­go—­”

“But why?—­Why?”

“Oh, must I tell you that—­can’t you understand?”

“Why must I go, Hermione?”

“Because,” she murmured, her yearning arms close about him, her face close hidden against his breast, “because I’ll never—­marry you—­now—­but I love you—­love you so much that I’m afraid—­ah, not of you.  So, I must be alone—­quite alone—­to fight my battle.  And now—­now that I’ve shown you all my heart, told you all my weakness, you’ll go for my sake—­just for my sake—­won’t you?”

“Yes—­I’ll—­go!” he answered slowly.