"And why not, Ragna cara?" he asked sinking to one knee and pushing aside the chair he had occupied. "Don't!" she repeated, drawing back as far as she could. "Ragna, you know that I love you," he insisted. "I love you, I loved you before you went to Venice! Do you not remember I told you that you would come back--to me? And you have, carissima! I think you love me too, is it not so?" "I don't, I can't!" she answered wildly. "Oh, Signor Valentini, you don't know--I have no right to love anyone or to let anyone love me!" "Why not, dear?" he asked and tried to take possession of her hands but she resisted him. "I love you, and I want to marry you." "Oh, please don't, Signor Valentini! We have been such good friends, please don't spoil it!" "We have been friends, yes, but we shall be more than friends." "No! no! That can never be!" "Why do you say that?" "Oh, don't ask me! I can't! It is quite impossible; and besides I don't love you in that way." "But I love you!" "I tell you it is impossible." "But why should it be impossible? I love you, you are more to me than my life,--I can't live without you. You must be my wife or--" He made a gesture of utter despair, "Ragna, dearest, you must be mine or my life is finished." "Signor Valentini, you must not talk like this--it is quite impossible." "But why?" Ragna closed her eyes wearily and drew a long breath. The moment she dreaded had come, and so suddenly that she found herself unprepared. She still tried to gain time. "Because--because I cannot marry anyone. But it should be enough that I do not love you." "But I will marry you without that and trust to the future." "I tell you it is impossible for me to marry anyone." He rose to his feet and stood looking down at her searchingly. She turned uneasily under his gaze, and reddened, her fan slipped from her knees to the floor. "Ragna," he said reproachfully, "what is it? Cannot you tell me? I am not like other men, I love you for yourself alone, you can tell me anything, anything,--nothing would change my feeling for you. Have I not been a good friend? Have I not earned the right to your confidence? Tell me all, dear,--you owe me at least an explanation of your refusal." Ragna obstinately kept the lids lowered over her eyes; she twisted and untwisted her fingers in silent agony. "Tell me, dear," he plead. She looked up at him piteously. "Why do you insist? Don't you see that you are hurting me?" "You have said too much or too little," he answered. "In justice to me and to yourself you should take me into your confidence." She sat up, a dull flush spreading over her face. "Since you will know then, it is this: I am going to have a child." She sank back, covering her face with her hands.