Sibylla made no answer, and Grantley lit a cigarette. When she spoke again she was grave and her voice was low.
"Don't make love to me. I'm afraid to love you. You know what I did before because I loved you. I should do it again, I'm afraid. I haven't learnt the lesson."
"Are you refusing the only way there is of learning it? How have I learnt all the fine lessons that I've been telling you?"
"I've not learnt the lesson. I still ask too much."
"If I give all I have, it'll seem enough to you. You'll know it's all now, and it'll seem enough. All there is is enough—even for you, isn't it?"
"You didn't give me all there was before."
"I had a theory," said Grantley. "I'm not going to have any more theories."
She turned to him suddenly.
"Oh, you mustn't ask—you mustn't stand there asking! That's wrong, that's unworthy of you. I mustn't let you do that."
"That was the theory," Grantley said with a smile. "That was just my theory. I'm always going to ask for what I want now. It's really the best way."