"If you know so well what I mean," Roger said a little sadly, "why haven't you applied that knowledge more frequently? It's only when—oh, what's the use?"
Anne waited but he did not go on. "None, unless you'll speak plainly. I don't know what you're referring to."
"No, I don't suppose you do. You can only interpret my unspoken thoughts against me. Never the other way round."
"Are we quarreling?" she asked with frigid politeness, as she might have asked a detail of social behavior by which to regulate her action.
"No," Roger shouted in a need to break through that icy calm, "we're not quarreling because there's nothing to quarrel about. There's nothing at all."
"That's where we began," Anne rose and carefully folded the sheet which she felt now was the shroud of all dead hopes. "There's really nothing more to be said, is there?"
She was actually waiting for him to confirm this fact, put a neat, rhetorical period to this immense finality. He did not answer.
"I don't want to discuss this again. There's really no need." She put her thimble and cotton back in the work-basket and closed the lid. "We've reached the decision. Haven't we?"
After all, why try to change Anne? She would force the decision upon him. She was right. It was quibbling to evade it.
"Yes. I guess we have."