“Oh, how could you!  How could you!” she exclaimed.

I remained silent.  In fact I did not know what to say.

“Don’t you see the position you’re putting yourself in?” she said.

“Position?” I repeated.  “What position?”

“It’s horrible, it’s ignoble,” she broke out.  “I have always admired you for the way you kept yourself clear of such an ambiguous relation—­you’ve known to the fraction of an inch what to take, what to refuse—­to preserve your self-respect—­my respect—­unimpaired.  And here I see you slipping into degradation.  Oh, Hugo!  I can’t bear it.”

“Is it such a crime to borrow a little money?” I asked.

“Not if you pay it back,” she returned.  “Not if you mean to pay it back.  But you know you can’t.  You know you won’t!”

“You think it’s the thin edge of the wedge?” I said.  “The beginning of the end and all that kind of thing?”

“You will go on,” she cried.  “You will become a dependent in this house, a hanger-on, a sponger.  I will hate you.  You will hate yourself.  It went through me like a knife when I found it out.”

I smoked my cigar in silence.  I suppose she was quite right—­ horribly right, though I didn’t like her any better for being so plain-spoken about it.  I felt myself turning red under her gaze.

“What do you want me to do?” I said at length.

“Pay it back,” she said.

“I wish to God I could,” I said.  “But you know how I live, Teresa, hanging on by the skin of my teeth—­hardly able to keep my head above water, let alone having a dollar to spare.”

“Then you can’t pay,” she said.

“I don’t think I can,” I returned.

“Then you ought to leave this house,” she said.

“You have certainly made it impossible for me to stay, Teresa,” I said.

“I want to make it impossible,” she cried.  “You—­you don’t understand—­you think I’m cruel—­it’s because I like you, Hugo—­ it’s because you’re the one man I admire above anybody in the world.  I’d rather see you starving than dishonoured.”

“Thank you for your kind interest,” I said ironically.  “Under the circumstances I am almost tempted to wish you admired me less.”

“Am I not right?” she demanded.

“Perfectly right,” I returned.  “Oh, yes!  Perfectly right.”

“And you’ll go,” she said.

“Yes, I’ll go,” I said.

“And earn the money and pay father?” she went on.

“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.”