He instantly guessed why.
And they were both seated in silence, in the terrible tension of the room. She was aware that it was a pleasant room, full of light and very restful in its form—aware also of a fuchsia tree, with dangling scarlet and purple flowers.
“How nice the fuchsias are!” she said, to break the silence.
“Aren’t they! Did you think I had forgotten what I said?”
A swoon went over Ursula’s mind.
“I don’t want you to remember it—if you don’t want to,” she struggled to say, through the dark mist that covered her.
There was silence for some moments.
“No,” he said. “It isn’t that. Only—if we are going to know each other, we must pledge ourselves for ever. If we are going to make a relationship, even of friendship, there must be something final and infallible about it.”
There was a clang of mistrust and almost anger in his voice. She did not answer. Her heart was too much contracted. She could not have spoken.
Seeing she was not going to reply, he continued, almost bitterly, giving himself away: