"Yes," she said; "you would." Then she turned away from him, for her tears were near at last. "Every flake lies on the frozen ground. D'you see how black the spotless snowflakes look against the sky? Isn't there some moral or other to be got out of that, Myles?"
"Why did you let me buy half Endicott's?" he asked, not hearing her last speech.
"Because you wanted to. And I wanted some money."
"Money!"
"Yes—I can tell you just at this moment. It will help to show you what I am. I sent a thousand pounds to Christo."
"He'll never take it!"
"Of course not. Yet, somehow, it comforted me for quite two days to send it."
"How we fool ourselves—we who think we stand firm! I fancied I was getting to understand you, Honor, and I knew nothing."
"You'd know everything, and find that everything was nothing if you weren't in love. There's nothing to know beyond the fact that I'm a very foolish woman. Uncle Mark understands me best. He must do so, for he can always make me angry, sometimes even ashamed."
Snow began to fall in earnest, and fluttered, tumbled, sidled, scurried over the Moor. The wind caught it and swept it horizontally in tattered curtains; the desolation grew from grey into white, from a spotted aspect, still lined and seamed with darkness, into prevailing pallor. The tors vanished; the distance was huddled from sight; Honor's astrakhan hat caught the snow, and her habit also. She shook her head, and shining drops fell from her veil. Then Myles went round to ride between her and the weather, and they hastily trotted down the hill homeward.