'What? After our friendship, after the talks, after everything. . . .
Then if I had not met you here by chance.' (Elena's voice began to
break, and she paused an instant) . . . 'you would have gone away
like that, without even shaking hands for the last time, and you would
not have cared?'

Insarov turned away. 'Elena Nikolaevnas don't talk like that, please.
I'm not over happy as it is. Believe me, my decision has cost me
great effort. If you knew----'

'I don't want to know,' Elena interposed with dismay, 'why you are
going. ... It seems it's necessary. It seems we must part. You would
not wound your friends without good reason. But, can friends part like
this? And we are friends, aren't we?'

'No,' said Insarov.

'What?' murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint
flush.

'That's just why I am going away--because we are not friends. Don't
force me into saying what I don't want to say, and what I won't say.'

'You used to be so open with me,' said Elena rather reproachfully.
'Do you remember?'

'I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but
now----'