* * * * * For a second I had to clutch at his shoulder to steady myself; for sea and cliff and gorse seemed wheeling round me in swirls of blue and green and gold. Then I wrenched myself away and faced him—without seeing too distinctly what was in front of my eyes. “Don’t say anything to me,” I heard myself tell him, in a voice that sounded unnaturally quiet and calm. “This—this can’t be forgiven. Don’t ask.” I heard him begin to say something about: “Do you think I am made of——” “Don’t speak to me again, please,” I said, still in that unnaturally quiet voice. “Not again.” I snatched up my sun-bonnet from the gorse-bush, rammed it down over my hair, and tied the strings so tightly beneath my chin that they nearly throttled me. Then I turned, saying, “I forbid you to follow me,” and left him standing there between cliff and sky, beside the wooden woman. I walked on until I thought I was out of his sight, then I ran; ran blindly across the cove and up the sandy path to the cottages. On the doorstep of the larger one Theo was sitting, emptying her white canvas shoes of sand on to the cobbles of the garden path. “Hullo, Nancy! Do you know that Cariad was so bored with you that he ran home?” she said. “What have you done with Billy the Beloved? Is he——” “Let me pass, please,” I said quietly, and walked swiftly into the house. The kitchen door was open and Mrs. Roberts was laying the table for the mid-day meal. She began, “Was you finiss paint the——” but I couldn’t stop to speak to her. I ran up the rickety wooden stairs to my bedroom. There isn’t a lock on the door; I looked. So I just latched it, and went and sat down on my bed, with its patchwork quilt of faded pinks and mauves. I began tracing with my fingers the pattern made by the hexagonal patches of purple. I don’t think I thought of anything at all. And I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there before I heard light steps on the staircase and a tap at the door. I raised my voice a little. “Don’t come in.” “Nancy,”—it was Blanche—“dinner’s ready!” “I don’t want any dinner. I am not coming down.” “Oh!—What’s the matter, dear?”—with quick concern. “Are you ill?” “No! I’m not ill!” “Have you got a headache?” “No! I haven’t got a headache. Only please go away. I don’t want to see anybody.” I heard her go softly downstairs again—then the kitchen door opening, and a murmur of voices. His voice. * * * * * Ah! that brought my anger surging over me at last like a great wave. I sat bolt upright, with a crumple of the quilt clutched in each hand. How dared he! How _dared_ he! Taking odious advantage of a situation! _This_ was not what I agreed to when I said I would be nominally engaged to him. _This_ was not unavoidable, like that last time.