She walked away, and came back, a little pale and grave. She sat down on the arm of a chair and looked up at him. ‘I see. You are as proud as ever.’ That hurt him. His face changed. ‘You can’t really think that,’ he said, with difficulty. ‘Yes, yes, you are!’ she said, wildly, covering her eyes a moment with her hands. ‘It’s just the same as it was in the spring—only different—I told you then—’ ‘That I was a bully and a cad!’ Her hands dropped sharply. ‘I _didn’t_!’ she protested. But she coloured brightly as she spoke, remembering certain remarks of Nora’s. ‘I thought—yes, I did think—you cared too much about being rich—and a great swell—and all that. But so did I!’ She sprang up. ‘What right had I to talk? When I think how I patronised and looked down upon everybody!’ ‘_You!_’ His tone was pure scorn. ‘You couldn’t do such a thing if you tried for a week of Sundays.’ ‘Oh couldn’t I! I _did_. Oxford seemed to me just a dear stupid old place—out of the world,—a kind of museum—where nobody mattered. Silly, wasn’t it? childish?’ She drew back her head fiercely, as though she defied him to excuse her. ‘I was just amusing myself with it—and with Otto—and with you. And that night, at Magdalen, all the time I was dancing with Otto, I was aiming—abominably—at you! I wanted to provoke you—to pay you back—oh, not for Otto’s sake—not at all!—but just because—I had asked you something—and you had refused. That was what stung me so. And do you suppose I should have cared twopence, unless⸺’ Her voice died away. Her fingers began fidgeting with the arm of the chair, her eyes bent upon them. He looked at her a moment irresolute, his face working. Then he said huskily— ‘In return—for that—I’ll tell you—I must tell you the real truth about myself. I don’t think you know me yet—and I don’t know myself. I’ve got a great brutal force in me somewhere—that wants to brush everything—that hinders me—or checks me—out of my path. I don’t know that I can control it—that I can make a woman happy. It’s an awful risk for you. Look at that poor fellow!’ He flung out his hand towards that distant room whence came every now and then a fresh wave of music. ‘I didn’t _intend_ to do him any bodily harm⸺’ ‘Of course not! It was an accident!’ cried Connie passionately. ‘Perhaps—strictly. But I did mean somehow to crush him—to make it precious hot for him—just because he’d got in my way. My will was like a steel spring in a machine—that had been let go. Suppose I felt like that again, towards⸺’ ‘Towards me?’ Connie opened her eyes very wide, puckering her pretty brow. ‘Towards someone—or something—you care for. We are certain to disagree about heaps of things.’ ‘Of course we are. Quite certain!’