They were standing then, both of them.
'Vic, darling, why not?' pleaded Neville gently, still holding her hand.
'I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.'
She did not know it, but generations of clean living were fighting behind her, driving back and crushing out the forces of nature. She did not know that, like most women, she was not a free being but the great-granddaughter of a woman whose forbears had taught her that illegal surrender is evil.
'I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said.
'Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping her hand. 'You're playing with me, that's all.'
'I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her eyes. 'Oh, Beauty, don't you understand. We women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard. We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were dead. And then a man comes like you and the only thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.'
'But why, why?' asked Beauty.
'I don't know,' said Victoria. 'We mustn't. At any rate I mustn't. My freedom is all I've got and I can't give it up to you like that. I like you, you know that, don't you, Beauty?'
Neville did not answer.