"And you would like my woolly shawl."
"My slippers are thick, and I don't want a shawl, or anything, thank you. I'm burning. Are you coming, Basil? Can't you see—can't you see that you must come?"
She ran out before him and on to the lawn, and the wind caught her hair and buffeted her so that she had to lean against it to find rest. She watched his slow approach, and as soon as he was close to her she said clearly, loudly, because of the wind: "I can't marry you."
"What?" He took her by the arm and stooped. "What did you say?"
She freed herself. "I can't marry you."
He heard. "Can we get out of the wind?" he said.
She made a gesture that told him to lead on, and she followed him to a dusty summer-house. The sudden quiet of the place was like a blow and there was a singing in her ears.
"It's dirty, I'm afraid."
"I don't want to sit down. Did you hear what I said, Basil?"
"You don't want to sit down?"