student; no, she had never
suspected this feeling.

All this in a flash of consciousness, whilst she pressed her sister
closer to her side. Then:

'And what did you say, dear?'

'I said I would, Lyddy.'

The elder sister became very grave. She bit first her lower, then her
upper lip.

'You said that at once, Thyrza?'

'Yes. I felt I must.'

'You felt you must?'

Thyrza could but inadequately explain what she meant by this. The words
involved a truth, but one of which she had no conscious perception.
Gilbert Grail was a man of strong personality, and in no previous
moment of life had his being so uttered itself in look and word as when
involuntarily he revealed his love. More, the vehemence of his feeling
went forth in that subtle influence with which forcible natures are
able to affect now an individual, now a crowd. Thyrza was very
susceptible of such impression; the love which had become all-potent in
Gilbert's heart sensibly moved her own. Ackroyd had had no power to
touch her so; his ardour had never appealed to her imagination with
such constraining reality. Grail was the first to make her conscious of
the meaning of passion. It was not passion which rose within her to
reply to his, but the childlike security in which she had hitherto
lived was at an end; love was henceforth to be the preoccupation of her
soul.

She answered her sister:

'I couldn't refuse him. He said he should love me as long as he lived,
and I felt that it was true. He didn't try to persuade me, Lyddy. When
I showed how surprised I was, he spoke very kindly, and wanted me to
have time to think.'

'But, dearest, you say you were surprised. You hadn't thought of such a
thing--I'm sure I hadn't. How could you say "yes" at once?'

'But have I done wrong, Lyddy?'

Lydia was again busy with conjecture, in woman's way rapidly reading
secrets by help of memory and intuition. She connected this event with
what Mary Bower had reported to her of Ackroyd. If it were indeed true
that Ackroyd no longer made pretence of loyalty to his old love, would
not Grail's knowledge of that change account for his sudden abandonment
of disguise? The two were friends; Grail might well have shrunk from
entering into rivalry with the younger man. She felt a convincing
clearness in this. Then it was true that Ackroyd had begun to show an
interest in Totty Nancarrow; it was true, she added bitterly,
connecting it closely with the other fact, that he haunted