"Death!" She flung back her head. "Oh yes, yes, yes; death is so much worse, and so much better, than people fancy. But have you felt your own heart shrivelling to a thing like a dried nut? Have you carried that about with you as--as some people do? And have you heard stories told by women whose eyes are dry because they have no tears left? I have. I have. Oh, shocking stories of sin, of things no girl should know the name of!" She spoke more quietly. "It's quite possible that I know more than you do of the world's evil, for you are the kind of person who never looks in the gutters: you keep your head high, but I look everywhere. And I want to see the gutter dirt: it's part of life, and the sun shines on that as well as on the flowers in the gardens. But I don't like it. You're not to think I like it. But you are to think I am very proud of having done that work. I suppose Mrs. Morton has not told your friends I am a working woman?" "She did not wish them to know. You must not think us snobs, Theresa, but in a place like this there are so many prejudices, and we do not want you to be hurt by them." "I can't be hurt by foolishness, and I won't be in the conspiracy. And why should your mother feel like that? She is Mr. Smith's sister, and their father educated himself, and then made sweets. From her point of view isn't that as bad, worse even, than my honourable calling?" "You see, you are a woman, Theresa." "Are we never to go unveiled and free?" He smiled gently. "Moreover, when my mother married my father she considered herself a member of his family rather than of her own." "Oh!" "Some women do, you know." "Oh! Don't hope for that from me, Basil. I won't be welded into anybody's family or anybody's nature." "Darling,"--his arms were round her--"I never want you to be anything but yourself." She leaned back. "But is it a self you like? Are you satisfied with it? You know"--she touched his chin lightly with her forefinger--"we're going to have a lot of trouble." "If we are together----" "Because we are together. Oh, I can smell it afar off. I did directly I came into the house." "Don't you like it?" he asked, and released her gently. "The house is beautiful--but we're not going to be alone in it, are we? Oh, I'm not complaining, but I rather wish we were going to have a semi-detached villa, and a maid like Bessie. Yet I hate housework! I'm afraid--I'm dreadfully afraid--I shall get annoyed." Her head was on one side, she twisted her fingers among his. "Theresa, you will be considerate of my mother." "Don't, don't, don't! If you put questions in the form of statements I shall go mad." There was patience in his look, but he redeemed it with a laugh. "I beg your pardon. Theresa, will you be considerate of my mother?" "I'll try." "I thought you prided yourself on your tact." "I do. I have it highly developed, but the devil sometimes steals it." "You are a little childish." "Very!" "And my mother is dear to me."