He represented to her all the charm of the soulless world, of godless nature. Basil frankly recognised no law outside himself, and the calm buoyancy of his egotism had fascinated her more volatile, more impressionable spirit. His tenderness for her had for a long time blinded her to the harsh side of that egotism. Now it had wounded her, so deeply that she could not yet see how she was to get over it.
She had had a number of long letters from him, and had replied briefly, ignoring his protestations. They were sincere, but she would not give them credit. There was only one thing that would convince her, and that was the truth about the other woman; and this Basil apparently would not tell. And it seemed to Teresa that if he would not tell, it must be because he had too much to conceal, even that spiritual infidelity which he had constantly denied. She did not believe that for a mere scruple of conventional honour he would imperil their relation, if he really cared about it. Her eyes narrowed ominously as in her heart she denied to Basil any lofty motive in his silence. Basil was not lofty, neither was he conventional. It was absurd that he should not have sacrificed the other woman; and Teresa recognised in herself a calm determination that he should still do so.
She sat on a rock beside the rushing, green, foamy stream, and contemplated herself as she
