was that she had accepted him in a misty state of mind
when nothing had its right shape or size？ that it was
deplorable； but that with clearer eyesight marriage was
out of the question？ She did not want to marry any one。
She wanted to go away by herself； preferably to some
bleak northern moor； and there study mathematics and
the science of astronomy。 Twenty words would explain
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the whole situation to him。 He had ceased to speak； he
had told her once more how he loved her and why。 She
summoned her courage； fixed her eyes upon a lightning
splintered ashtree； and； almost as if she were reading a
writing fixed to the trunk； began：
“I was wrong to get engaged to you。 I shall never make
you happy。 I have never loved you。”
“Katharine！” he protested。
“No； never；” she repeated obstinately。 “Not rightly。 Don’t
you see； I didn’t know what I was doing？”
“You love some one else？” he cut her short。
“Absolutely no one。”
“Henry？” he demanded。
“Henry？ I should have thought； William； even you—”
“There is some one；” he persisted。 “There has been a
change in the last few weeks。 You owe it to me to be
honest； Katharine。”
“If I could； I would；” she replied。
“Why did you tell me you would marry me； then？” he
demanded。
Why； indeed？ A moment of pessimism； a sudden con
viction of the undeniable prose of life； a lapse of the
illusion which sustains youth midway between heaven
and earth； a desperate attempt to reconcile herself with
facts—she could only recall a moment； as of waking from
a dream； which now seemed to her a moment of surrender。
But who could give reasons such as these for doing
what she had done？ She shook her head very sadly。
“But you’re not a child—you’re not a woman of moods；”
Rodney persisted。 “You couldn’t have accepted me if you
hadn’t loved me！” he cried。
A sense of her own misbehavior； which she had succeeded
in keeping from her by sharpening her consciousness
of Rodney’s faults； now swept over her and almost
overwhelmed her。 What were his faults in parison with
the fact that he cared for her？ What were her virtues in
parison with the fact that she did not care for him？
In a flash the conviction that not to care is the uttermost
sin of all stamped itself upon her inmost thought； and
she felt herself branded for ever。
He had taken her arm； and held her hand firmly in his；
nor had she the force to resist what now seemed to her
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his enormously superior strength。 Very well； she would
submit； as her mother and her aunt and most women；
perhaps； had submitted； and yet she knew that every
second of such submission to his strength was a second
of treachery to him。
“I did say I would marry you； but it was wrong；” she
forced herself to say； and she stiffened her arm as if to
annul even the seeming submission of that separate part
of her； “for I don’t love you； William； you’ve noticed it；
every one’s noticed it； why should we go on pretending？
When I told you I loved you； I was wrong。 I said what I
knew to be untrue。”
As none of her words seemed to her at all adequate to
represent what she felt； she repeated them； and emphasized
them without realizing the effect that they might
have upon a man who cared for her。 She was pletely
taken aback by finding her arm suddenly dropped； then
she saw his face most strangely contorted； was he laughing；
it flashed across her？ In another moment she saw
that he was in tears。 In her bewilderment at this apparition
she stood aghast for a second。 With a desperate
sense that this horror must； at all costs； be stopped； she
then put her arms about him； drew his head for a moment
upon her shoulder； and led him on； murmuring words of
consolation； until he heaved a great sigh。 They held fast
to each other； her tears； too； ran down her cheeks； and
were both quite silent。 Noticing the difficulty with which
he walked； and feeling the same extreme lassitude in her
own limbs； she proposed that they should rest for a moment
where the bracken was brown and shriveled beneath
an oaktree。 He assented。 Once more he gave a
great sigh； and wiped his eyes with a childlike unconsciousness；
and began to speak without a trace of his
previous anger。 The idea came to her that they were like
the children in the fairy tale who were lost in a wood；
and with this in her mind she noticed the scattering of
dead leaves all round them which had been blown by the
wind into heaps； a foot or two deep； here and there。
“When did you begin to feel this； Katharine？” he said；
“for it isn’t true to say that you’ve always felt it。 I admit
I was unreasonable the first night when you found that
your clothes had been left behind。 Still； where’s the fault
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in that？ I could promise you never to interfere with your
clothes again。 I admit I was cross when I found you upstairs
with Henry。 Perhaps I showed it too openly。 But
that’s not unreasonable either when one’s engaged。 Ask
your mother。 And now this terrible thing—” He broke off；
unable for the moment to proceed any further。 “This decision
you say you’ve e to—have you discussed it
with any one？ Your mother； for example； or Henry？”
“No； no； of course not；” she said； stirring the leaves with
her hand。 “But you don’t understand me； William—”
“Help me to understand you—”
“You don’t understand； I mean； my real feelings； how
could you？ I’ve only now faced them myself。 But I haven’t
got the sort of feeling—love； I mean—I don’t know what
to call it”—she looked vaguely towards the horizon sunk
under mist—”but； anyhow； without it our marriage would
be a farce—”
“How a farce？” he asked。 “But this kind of analysis is
disastrous！” he exclaimed。
“I should have done it before；” she said gloomily。
“You make yourself think things you don’t think；” he
continued； being demonstrative with his hands； as
his manner was。 “Believe me； Katharine； before we came
here we were perfectly happy。 You were full of plans for
our house—the chaircovers； don’t you remember？—like
any other woman who is about to be married。 Now； for no
reason whatever； you begin to fret about your feeling
and about my feeling； with the usual result。 I assure you；
Katharine； I’ve been through it all myself。 At one time I
was always asking myself absurd questions which came
to nothing either。 What you want； if I may say so； is
some occupation to take you out of yourself when this
morbid mood es on。 If it hadn’t been for my poetry； I
assure you； I should often have been very much in the
same state myself。 To let you into a secret；” he continued；
with his little chuckle； which now sounded almost
assured； “I’ve often gone home from seeing you in such a
state of nerves that I had to force myself to write a page
or two before I could get you out of my head。 Ask Denham；
he’ll tell you how he met me one night； he’ll tell you what
a state he found me in。”
Katharine started with displeasure at the mention of
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Ralph’s name。 The thought of the conversation in which
her conduct had been made a subject for discussion with
Denham roused her anger； but； as she instantly felt； she
had scarcely the right to grudge William any use of her
name； seeing what her fault against him had been from
first to last。 And yet Denham！ She had a view of him as a
judge。 She figured him sternly weighing instances of her
levity in this masculine court of inquiry into feminine
morality and gruffly dismissing both her and her family
with some halfsarcastic； halftolerant phrase which sealed
her doom； as far as he was concerned； for ever。 Having
met him so lately； the sense of his character was strong
in her。 The thought was not a pleasant one for a proud
woman； but she had yet to learn the art of subduing her
expression。 Her eyes fixed upon the ground； her brows
drawn together； gave William a very fair picture of the
resentment that she was forcing herself to control。 A certain
degree of apprehension； occasionally culminating in
a kind of fear； had always entered into his love for her；
and had increased； rather to his surprise； in the greater
intimacy of their engagement。 Beneath her steady； ex
emplary surface ran a vein of passion which seemed to
him now perverse； now pletely irrational； for it never
took the normal channel of glorification of him and his
doings； and； indeed； he almost preferred the steady good
sense； which had always marked their relationship； to a
more romantic bond。 But passion she had； he could not
deny it； and hitherto he had tried to see it employed in
his thoughts upon the lives of the children who were to
be born to them。
“She will make a perfect mother—a mother of sons；”
he thought； but seeing her sitting there； gloomy and silent；
he began to have his doubts on this point。 “A farce；
a farce；” he thought to himself。 “She said that our marriage
would be a farce；” and h