She shook her head the least bit.

"Don't you believe me?" he asked in a low, infuriated voice.

"Nobody would love me," she answered in a very quiet tone. "Nobody
could."

He was dumb for a time, astonished beyond measure, as he well might have
been. He doubted his ears. He was outraged.

"Eh? What? Can't love you? What do you know about it? It's my
affair, isn't it? You dare say _that_ to a man who has just told you!
You must be mad!"

"Very nearly," she said with the accent of pent-up sincerity, and even
relieved because she was able to say something which she felt was true.
For the last few days she had felt herself several times near that
madness which is but an intolerable lucidity of apprehension.

The clear voices of Mrs Fyne and the girls were coming nearer, sounding
affected in the peace of the passion-laden earth. He began storming at
her hastily.

"Nonsense! Nobody can ... Indeed! Pah! You'll have to be shown that
somebody can. I can. Nobody..." He made a contemptuous hissing noise.
"More likely _you_ can't. They have done something to you.
Something's crushed your pluck. You can't face a man--that's what it
is. What made you like this? Where do you come from? You have been
put upon. The scoundrels--whoever they are, men or women, seem to have
robbed you of your very name. You say you are not Miss Smith. Who are
you, then?"

She did not answer. He muttered, "Not that I care," and fell silent,
because the fatuous self-confident chatter of the Fyne girls could be
heard at the very gate. But they were not going to bed yet. They
passed on. He waited a little in silence and immobility, then stamped
his foot and lost control of himself. He growled at her in a savage
passion. She felt certain that he was threatening her and calling her
names. She was no stranger to abuse, as we know, but there seemed to be
a particular kind of ferocity in this which was new to her. She began
to tremble. The especially terrifying thing was that she could not make
out the nature of these awful menaces and names. Not a word. Yet it
was not the shrinking anguish of her other experiences of angry scenes.
She made a mighty effort, though her knees were knocking together, and
in an expiring voice demanded that he should let her go indoors. "Don't
stop me. It's no use. It's no use," she repeated faintly, feeling an
invincible obstinacy rising within her, yet without anger against that
ragin