"Hush, Ann."
"Why should I hush?" she asked. "It's the truth."
"It's a lie, that's what it is," said Thomas.
"Do you hate me, Tom?" she said. And she sat looking steadily before her.
"I don't know what's got into you. You act so queer."
"I want to be happy," she whispered.
"Then . . . you can do as you like for all of me."
But as they rode along in silence, wrapped in mist, she drew closer to him, all her reckless spirit gone. "There . . . you've made me cry," she said, and put her hand, cold and moist, into his.
"Aren't you going to kiss me, Tom?"
He slapped the reins bitterly across his horse's back. "What's the good of that?" he asked, in turn.