‘Ah, is it so?—that is easily mended!’ he replied, in bitter astonishment. ‘Don’t blame—don’t kill me with scornful tones!’ she said, with more courage, even though the courage of despair; ‘think, as I have been thinking through these bitter weeks—oh, so bitter! It is right—it is just that you see me no more. What is there in common between us? I am a poor potter’s girl—am rude in speech and manner; you are nobly born and rich——’ Her voice trembled with extreme agitation, and she stopped abruptly as if she could trust it no longer. A smile of infinite tenderness and pity illumined his fine features. ‘Had I needed but one thing more to clench my love, you have given it me,’ he said, catching her hands again and drawing her towards him. ‘No—it were better to love one of your own station,’ she panted, trying to repulse him. ‘It is too late to tell me that. Come, look at me, child!’ ‘No, I have been foolish and am to blame. I ought to have seen that your way of life cannot be mine. My father has also said it, and he is wise.’ ‘Ay, he has said it, but you?’ ‘I say it is truth and must be followed.’ ‘Foolish! You only bind me the faster to you. Your joint wisdom is vain against my conviction. What! are we to part because a weak, foolish fancy seizes you, that your speech and bearing are not like the artificial, superfine graces of the proud dames who loll away their lives in palaces? Gods forbid! Why, there are those of your sex in Rome—ay, even in Surrentum, who would deem me as the dust beneath their feet.’ ‘And there are others, also, whom you would look upon in the same fashion,’ replied the girl. ‘True! and many of them of family and wealth far beyond mine.’ ‘Yet what you have of both is far above me, and therefore, between us, all remains the same.’ ‘Surrentum cannot better you in a lawyer’s wit, Neæra,’ he said, with a smile, ‘but you spend it in so poor a cause. There remains something far beyond rank and wealth.’ ‘Whatever it is, it is not for us in common,’ she said, striving to appear calm; ‘it is over now. I have been weak and foolish, and oh, how I have suffered for it! Forgive me, Centurion, if you can forgive me—go from me and forget me—all our folly.’ As she looked him full in the face there was a depth of anguish in her eyes which filled him alike with pity and joy. At the same time she held out her hand, but he folded his arms across his breast. ‘Centurion!’ he repeated, in a tone of reproof; ‘Neæra, have you forgotten my name?’ His bearing and speech throughout had never shown a sign of hesitation which might have encouraged her in her determination. He stood before her vast, immovable, and calmly resolute. Her glance drooped, and her outstretched hand and arm gradually fell to her side. Then she buried her face in her hands.