"I did not think you were so simple," she said, smiling. "Oh, Alexander, I want to cry. I needed you. I needed someone strong to lift me up and understand those crying voices in me, and you have given me yourself! Oh, will you let me cry?" He was smiling at her in a way she had not seen before, teasingly and with possession. "We'll have to get a place to sit comfortably in first," he said, so that they laughed together. "Let us sit on this stone," she said. "I promise not to cry, because I've laughed instead, and the water seems to be making noises for me. Let me have your hand. Isn't it wonderful? There's no need to talk, but I want to do it. And there's nothing to explain. It's like being born and knowing all about it--coming into the world grown up. I don't like looking back into the dark." She laid his hand against her eyes; he felt the twitching of her eyelids, and when she showed her face, he saw it puzzled, reminiscent. "Alexander, something happened the night before I told Basil I wouldn't marry him. Were you thinking of me?" He spoke in his queer, toneless voice. "Did I ever stop?" She gave the laugh that no one else had heard, and clasped her hands round his. "Oh, but you are the man I wanted! I mean, thinking very specially. It was the tenth of March." "What happened?" "Someone woke me and drove me down the stairs into the night. Alexander, was it you?" "It wasn't me. Would I have meddled? Do you remember how you said you must be free?" "And you said I never could be, and it's true!" "And was that all?" "Yes, I went back to bed, but there _was_ someone. What is it?" She felt how he had stiffened. "Your hand's not loving me. What is it?" "It's Janet, the witch--the witch! It was that night I told her, and she threatened me with her tricks. Theresa, was it then you knew you didn't love that man? Could you not learn it for yourself?" "I did, I did." He saw the swift lines of her throat as she raised her head. He knew how she would look when she was angered. "I had your letter for a pillow. Before I slept I knew I couldn't marry him. I was only waiting to tell him in the morning, and I was yours that night. It happened--that strange thing happened, after I knew--after! How dare you think I didn't choose to do it!" For a long time he looked at her. He had forgotten nothing of her face. "It's not easy to believe you're all you are," he told her slowly. She laughed again on her low note of joy. "You always say the perfect thing. Here are my hands again. Oh, you poor soul, you can't be half as happy as I am, for you have never been engaged to someone you did not love. Or have you?" "No. I wish you would not talk about that man. Theresa, I've got a bad, black temper. I ought not to let you marry me."