Mary Roberts Rinehart

“ He was watching her intently.
“Work and trouble, and a long sleep at the end for which let us be duly thankful—that's life, too. Love? Not every one gets love.”
Hopelessness and despair overwhelmed her. He was making it hard for her. Impossible. She could not go on.
“I did not come with peace,” she said tremulously, “but if you don't want it——” She rose. “I must say this, though, before I go. I blame myself. I don't blame you. You are wrong if you think I came to forgive you.”
She was stumbling toward the door.
“Elizabeth, what did bring you?” ”

“ A thousand times, no,” he said violently. Then, more gently: “I'm making a fool of myself. I want your peace and good will, Elizabeth. God knows I need them.”
“You frighten me, Dick,” she said, slowly. “I didn't come to bring forgiveness, if that is what you mean. I came——”
“Don't tell me you came to ask it. That would be more than I can bear.”
“Will you listen to me for a moment, Dick? I am not good at explaining things, and I'm nervous. I suppose you can see that.” She tried to smile at him. “A—a little work, a sleep, a little love, that's life, isn't it?” ”

“ He strode after her and catching her by the arm, turned her until he faced her.
“And why did you want to see me again? You can't still care for me. You know the story. You know I was here and didn't see you. You've seen Leslie Ward. You know my past. ”