His silence was one of angry frustration. He was astonished. He had told her of his visit to Wirksworth, but briefly, without interest, he thought.
As she sat with her strange dark face turned towards him, her eyes watched him, inscrutable, casting him up. He began to oppose her. She was again the active unknown facing him. Must he admit her? He resisted involuntarily.
“Why should you want to find a woman who is more to you than me?” she said.
The turbulence raged in his breast.
“I don’t,” he said.
“Why do you?” she repeated. “Why do you want to deny me?”
Suddenly, in a flash, he saw she might be lonely, isolated, unsure. She had seemed to him the utterly certain, satisfied, absolute, excluding him. Could she need anything?
“Why aren’t you satisfied with me?—I’m not satisfied with you. Paul used to come to me and take me like a man does. You only leave me alone or take me like your cattle, quickly, to forget me again—so that you can forget me again.”
“What am I to remember about you?” said Brangwen.
“I want you to know there is somebody there besides yourself.”