She withdrew her knee quickly and a moment after got up, and Ned got up and followed her across the grass-plot, and through the rosary; not a word was said and she began to wonder he did not plead to be forgiven. She felt she should send him away, but she could not find words to tell him to go. His conduct was so unprecedented; no one had ever taken such a liberty before. It was shameful that she was not more angry, for she knew she was only trying to feel angry. "But," he said, suddenly, as if he divined her thoughts, "we've forgotten the fish; won't you come back and help me to carry them? I cannot carry three trout by myself." She was about to answer severely, but as she stood looking at him her thoughts yielded before an extraordinary feeling of delight; she tried in vain to collect her scattered mind--she wished to reproach him. "Are you going to answer me, Ellen?" and he took her hand. "Ned, are you a Catholic?" she said, turning suddenly. "I was born one, but I have thought little about religion. I have had other things to think about. What does it matter? Religion doesn't help us to love one another." "I should like you better if you were a good Catholic." "I wonder how that is?" he said, and he admired the round hand and its pretty articulations, and she closed her hand on his with a delicious movement. "I could like you better, Ned, if you were a Catholic.... I think I could." "What has my being a good Catholic got to do with your love of me?" And he watched the small and somewhat severe profile looking across the old grey wall into the flat grey sky. "I did not say I loved you," she said, almost angrily; "but if I did love you," she said, looking at him tenderly, "and you were religious, I should be loving something eternal. You don't understand what I mean? What I am saying to you must seem like nonsense." "No, it doesn't, Ellen, only I am content with the reality. I can love you without wings." He watched for the look of annoyance in her face that he knew his words would provoke, but her face was turned away. "I like you, but I am afraid of you. It is a very strange feeling. You ran away with a circus and you let the lion die and you went to fight in Cuba. You have loved other women, and I have never loved anyone. I never cared for a man until I saw you, until I looked up from the album." "I understand very well, Ellen; I knew something was going to happen to me in Ireland." She turned; he was glad to see her full face again. Her eyes were fixed upon him, but she saw through him, and jealous of her thought he drew her towards him. "Let us go into the arbour," he said. "I have never been into the arbour of clipped limes with you." "Why do you want to go into the arbour?" "I want to kiss you.... The gardener can see us now; a moment ago he was behind the Jerusalem artichokes." "I hadn't noticed the gardener; I hadn't thought about him."