She freed herself. "I can't marry you." He heard. "Can we get out of the wind?" he said. She made a gesture that told him to lead on, and she followed him to a dusty summer-house. The sudden quiet of the place was like a blow and there was a singing in her ears. "It's dirty, I'm afraid." "I don't want to sit down. Did you hear what I said, Basil?" "You don't want to sit down?" "No. I can't marry you." He saw no ring on her hand. "Why?" he breathed. He was shocked into the use of his imagination. "Is it--it isn't Vincent?" "Vincent?" She had to frown before she could remember him. "Oh no, no, no!" "Why?" he asked again, and his voice seemed to hold back the word as it was uttered. "I don't know. I'm very fond of you." She smiled with a touch of drollery. "I think I love you, as one loves some people, but not--one's lover. I thought I did, except when I heard voices." He frowned, uncertain of her sanity. He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Theresa. What have I done?" "Nothing. But I've known secretly all the time--nearly all the time--that in saying I would marry you I fell below myself. Not"--she smiled again--"because I think you are unworthy, but just because you are not--the man for me. I made you into him for a little while, but truth is stronger than my will. It's possible that a very good man may do one more harm than a very bad one. But I'm not thinking of my safety. It's just my necessity, and I don't know what is going to follow. I can't explain. There are no words, for, you see, it's something that belongs to the wordless things. I ought to have found out before. I might have, if I had been quite honest." The word had a memory for him. "Was this what you came to say last night?" "No." "What was it?" "I can't tell you now." "I think I have a right to know." "You had last night; not now." He showed her a terrible, drawn face. "Theresa, forgive me for last night. Let us begin again. We are so different--but I want to learn from you. Let us begin again." "We can't." She twisted her hands together, and shook them with the faint shaking of her body. "A little thing like that--Theresa, I love you." "I know." She stood silent, with head bowed, but she lifted it with a thought. "You've never wanted the best of me, Basil. And--I can't give it to you. There's a dam, somewhere. And I've never been true to you. Ah, you see, you don't understand. Isn't that proof enough? I thought I loved you, but all my life I've been playing parts, half consciously. There has only been one day--only one--when I did not think about myself." "When was that?" It was the first time she had seen him curious. She smiled waveringly, as though she would soon cry.