"Yes," she answered; "I know that sometimes they cannot; I have proved it to myself."
"You have not, then, much opinion of the people who do not know when they are beaten?"
"I don't think I have," she answered; "you cannot help knowing when you are beaten if you really are—that is, unless you are a fool. Of course, if you are only beaten in one round, or one effort, that is another thing; you can get up and try again. But if you are really and truly beaten, by yourself, or circumstances, or something—well, there's an end; there is nothing but to get up and go on."
"Just so; in that case, as you say, there is not much going to be done, except going home."
Julia nodded. "But I can't even do that," she said. "I am beaten, but I have got to stay here all the same, having nowhere exactly to go."
This was the first time she had spoken even indirectly of her own future movements. "But, perhaps," he suggested, "if you stay, you may find a back way to your object after all."
She shook her head. "It is the back way I tried. No, there is no way; it is blocked. I know, because it is myself that blocks it."
"In that case," he said, "I'm afraid I must agree with you; there is no way; oneself is about the most insurmountable block of all. I might have known that you were hardly likely to make any mistake as to whether you were really beaten or not."
"I should not think it was a mistake you were likely to make either," she observed.
"You think not? Well, I had no chance this time; the fact has been made pretty obvious to me."