ed.

"But" I said, and my whole soul was full of accusations.

"I know," she said. "I can't explain. I can't. But it has to be 'No!' It
can't be. It's utterly, finally, for ever impossible.... Keep your hands
still!"

"But," I said, "when we met again--"

"I can't marry. I can't and won't."

She stood up. "Why did you talk?" she cried, "couldn't you SEE?"

She seemed to have something it was impossible to say.

She came to the table beside my bed and pulled the Michaelmas daisies
awry. "Why did you talk like that?" she said in a tone of infinite
bitterness. "To begin like that!"

"But what is it?" I said. "Is it some circumstance--my social position?"

"Oh, DAMN your social position!" she cried.

She went and stood at the further window, staring out at the rain. For
a long time we were absolutely still. The wind and rain came in little
gusts upon the pane. She turned to me abruptly.

"You didn't ask me if I loved you," she said.

"Oh, if it's THAT!" said I.

"It's not that," she said. "But if you want to know--" She paused.

"I do," she said.

We stared at one another.

"I do--with all my heart, if you want to know."

"Then, why the devil--?" I asked.

She made no answer. She walked across the room to the piano and began
to play, rather noisily and rapidly, with odd gusts of emphasis,
the shepherd's pipe music from the last act in "Tristan and Isolde."
Presently she missed a note, failed again, ran her finger heavily up the
scale, struck the piano passionately with her fist, making a feeble jar
in the treble, jumped up, and went out of the room....

The nurse found me still wearing my helmet of bandages, partially
dressed, and pottering round the room to find the rest of my clothes.
I was in a state of exasperated hunger for Beatrice, and I was too
inflamed and weakened to conceal the state of my mind. I was feebly
angry because of the irritation of dressing, and particularly of the
struggle to put on my trousers without being able to see my legs. I was
staggering about, and once I had fallen over a chair and I had upset the
jar of Michaelmas daisies.

I must have been a detestable spectacle. "I'll go back to bed," said I,
"if I may have a word with Miss Beatrice. I've got something to say to
her. That's why I'm dressing."

My point was conceded, but there were long delays. Whether the household
had my ultimatum or whether she told Beatrice directly I do not know,
and what Lady Osprey can have