"I don't believe it! But I do have nightmares--wild beasts and burglars--all the ordinary things. I daresay it tires one." Colour was in her cheeks, and her eyes were guarded. She looked at him, but she saw the place of the dreams that came in spite of prayer; the quiet lake under the riven rock. She felt the soft wind in her hair, and heard the water lapping. The shaking of Neville's head blurred her vision, and his voice boomed through the chaos of dissolving hill and lake. "It won't do. I've watched men and women for years, and I know there's something on your mind. What's the matter?" She leaned back, with all her defences up and pride for the strong inner wall. She scorned herself for sentimental weakness, and with feverish hands she thrust it back for the enemy it was. "There's nothing the matter," she said, and determined that, henceforth, those words should be the faithful echo of her heart. "I'm a restless sort of creature. I wear myself out. I'll try to be more sensible." Her smile was a little stretched. "One doesn't always know what one wants." "I think----" He jumped up and took a pipe from his pocket. "Let's talk in peace till the old gentleman comes back. He has gone to the station for the Landed Proprietor." "Who's that?" "Nephew. Quite a swell. Sits on the bench, I believe; rides a horse in the Yeomanry; very good-looking, quite intelligent. The sort of man who is a father to his tenants. You'll see. I was going to say, I don't think the independent woman is a great success. Now, then!" But the expected indignation did not come. "Oh?" she said politely. "Aren't you even going to show fight?" "I'm much too lazy. But go on." "It's difficult to argue with a non-combatant, but I'll try to rouse you. You're a failure yourself, Theresa." She raised her tired eyes, and again she encouraged him. "Oh?" "You do your work almost perfectly, and it doesn't satisfy you." "Yes, it does." "No, it doesn't." "Well, does yours?" "Of course. But you have some female hankering or other. God knows what for." "I expect He does, Jack, even though you don't. I suppose you are suggesting that I ought to marry. You're as bad as Grace. A husband and a home, and then content! I won't believe it! I don't believe it! My life can't be bound within a wedding-ring. As though that could soothe one's restlessness, satisfy one's desires! Yet it's the only solution anybody offers." "Then you admit the problem?" "Oh yes--I admit it!" "Ha----" "There's no life without it. But I don't think the hankering is a feminine one, Jack. I think it's--it's of the spirit, and I had it when I was quite a little girl. I can't find what I want. It's up and away--beyond everything else." "And love has wings," he said, twisting his face comically to roughen the words. "It has nothing to do with love. Mind, I don't despise it. How could I? But"--she threw out her hands--"I will not have myself hemmed in by it. I want wide spaces."