"What was it?"
"I can't tell you now."
"I think I have a right to know."
"You had last night; not now."
He showed her a terrible, drawn face. "Theresa, forgive me for last night. Let us begin again. We are so different—but I want to learn from you. Let us begin again."
"We can't." She twisted her hands together, and shook them with the faint shaking of her body.
"A little thing like that—Theresa, I love you."
"I know." She stood silent, with head bowed, but she lifted it with a thought. "You've never wanted the best of me, Basil. And—I can't give it to you. There's a dam, somewhere. And I've never been true to you. Ah, you see, you don't understand. Isn't that proof enough? I thought I loved you, but all my life I've been playing parts, half consciously. There has only been one day—only one—when I did not think about myself."
"When was that?" It was the first time she had seen him curious.
She smiled waveringly, as though she would soon cry.