That pronoun, so softly said, with such a tender emphasis and meaning, so much more than was ever put into two letters before, went to the heart of Agnes. She was trying so hard to be angry with him, trying to shut herself against the insinuating tone of his voice, and those attempts to beguile her into conversation. All the theoretical fervour that was in her mind had been boiling up to reply, and perhaps her resolution would not have been strong enough to restrain her, had not that we come in, taking the words from her lips and the strength from her mind. She could neither protest against the wickedness and weakness of consenting to live an ignoble life, nor indignantly declare that there was already more than pleasure, happiness, and delight in the path of self-sacrifice, when all the force was stolen out of her by that tiny monosyllable--_we_! How dared he identify himself with her? draw her into union with him by that little melting yet binding word? She went on faster than ever in the agitation of her thoughts, and was scarcely conscious that she made him no answer; though surely what he had said called for some reply. Oswald was at his wit’s end. He did not know what to say more. He made a little pause for some answer, and then getting none, suddenly changed his tone into one of pathetic appeal. ‘Are you angry with me? ‘he said. ‘What have I done? Don’t you mean to speak to me any more?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, turning suddenly round, so that he could not tell which of his questions she was answering. ‘I am vexed that you will come with me. Gentlemen do not insist on walking with ladies to whom they have not been introduced--whom they have met only by chance----’ He stopped short suddenly, moved by the accusation; but unfortunately Agnes too, startled by his start, stopped also, and gave him a curious, half-defiant, half-appealing look, as if asking what he was going to do; and this look took away all the irritation which her words had produced. He proceeded to excuse himself, walking on, but at a slower pace, compelling her to wait for him--for it did not occur to Agnes, though she had protested against his company, to take the remedy into her own hands, and be so rude as to break away. ‘What could I do?’ he said piteously. ‘You would not tell me even your name--you know mine. I don’t know how to address you, nor how to seek acquaintance in all the proper forms. It is no fault of mine.’ This confused Agnes by a dialectic artifice for which she was not prepared. He gave a very plausible reason, not for the direct accusation against him, but for a lesser collateral fault. She had to pause for a moment before she could see her way out of the maze. ‘I did not mean that. I meant you should not come at all,’ she said.