"They have passed very quietly," said Catherine.
"They have left no marks; you are admirably young." This time he succeeded in coming nearer—he was close to her; she saw his glossy perfumed beard, and his eyes above it looking strange and hard. It was very different from his old—from his young—face. If she had first seen him this way she would not have liked him. It seemed to her that he was smiling, or trying to smile. "Catherine," he said, lowering his voice, "I have never ceased to think of you."
"Please don't say those things," she answered.
"Do you hate me?"
"Oh no," said Catherine. Something in her tone discouraged him, but in a moment he recovered himself. "Have you still some kindness for me, then?"
"I don't know why you have come here to ask me such things!" Catherine exclaimed.
"Because for many years it has been the desire of my life that we should be friends again."
"That is impossible."
"Why so? Not if you will allow it."
"I will not allow it! " said Catherine.
