We parted at last at a -rank near a bridge over the Canal at the western end of Park Village. I remember that I made a last appeal to her as we walked towards it, and that we loitered on the bridge, careless of who might see us there, in a final conflict of our wills. "Before it is too late, Mary, dear," I said.  
She shook her head, her white lips pressed together.
 
"But after the things that have happened. That night—the moonlight!"
 
"It's not fair," she said, "for you to talk of that. It isn't fair."
 
"But Mary. This is parting. This indeed is parting."
 
She answered never a word.
 
"Then at least talk to me again for one time more."
 
"Afterwards," she said. "Afterwards I will talk to you. Don't make things too h............