demand that I should tell you. You have your secrets—why shouldn't I have mine?"
"How you talk!" he burst out. "Like the silliest, shallowest sort of a new woman!" 'Rights'! It isn't a question of rights—it's a question of necessity. Some things can be and others can't. Secrets! I've never had a secret from you that counted for anything. And you can't have this sort of a secret from me. You can't, if we're to go on at all. Understand?"
"Don't bully, Basil."
"Bully! … By the Lord, you shall tell me!"
He turned like a flash and his two hands, trembling, closed tight round her throat.
"Basil …." she murmured, looking at him with half-shut eyes, almost smiling.
With as abrupt a movement he released her, flung himself down on the bench under the apple-tree and hid his face on his arms. Teresa stood still and looked at him.
"Basil … I can't understand why you behave in this way. You don't trust me, then, at all, really? There was nothing in that letter to cause all this."
He was silent.
"I've never loved anyone but you."
"All the worse!" He lifted his head and looked at her. "What was it, then, that made you do this? Vanity? I could forgive you if you loved someone else, but this …!"
