She realised that here was a nature different from her own, and
which should be dealt with in a way unsuitable to herself; and the
conviction seemed to make the action which it necessitated more easy as
well as more natural to her. Perhaps for the first time in her life
Stephen understood that it may be necessary to apply to individuals a
standard of criticism unsuitable to self-judgment. Her recognition might
have been summed up in the thought which ran through her mind:

'One must be a little lenient with a man one loves!' Stephen, when once she had allowed the spirit of toleration to work
within her, felt immediately its calming influence. It was with brighter
thoughts and better humour that she went on with her task. A task only,
it seemed now; a means to an end which she desired. 'Leonard, tell me seriously, why do you think I gave you the trouble of
coming out here?' 'Upon my soul, Stephen, I don't know.' 'You don't seem to care either, lolling like that when I am serious!' The
words were acid, but the tone was soft and friendly, familiar and
genuine, putting quite a meaning of its own on them. Leonard looked at
her indolently:

'I like to loll.' 'But can't you even guess, or try to guess, what I ask you?' 'I can't guess. The day's too hot, and that shanty with the drinks is
not built yet.' 'Or may never be!' Again he looked at her sleepily. 'Never be! Why not?' 'Because, Leonard, it may depend on you.' 'All right then. Drive on! Hurry up the architect and the
jerry-builder!' A quick blush leaped to Stephen's cheeks. The words were full of
meaning, though the tone lacked something; but the news was too good. She
could not accept it at once; she decided to herself to wait a short time. Ere many seconds had passed she rejoiced that she had done so as he went
on:

'I hope you'll give me a say before that husband of yours comes along. He
might be a blue-ribbonite; and it wouldn't do to start such a shanty for
rot-gut!' Again a cold wave swept over her. The absolute difference of feeling
between the man and herself; his levity against her earnestness, his
callous blindness to her purpose, even the commonness of his words
chilled her. For a few seconds she wavered again in her intention; but
once again his comeliness and her own obstinacy joined hands and took her
back to her path. With chagrin she felt that her words almost stuck in
her throat, as summoning up all her resolution she went on:

'It would be for you I would have it built, Leonard!' The man sat up
quickly. 'For me?' he asked in a sort of wonderment. 'Yes, Leonard, for you and me!' She turned away; her blushes so overcame
her that she could not look at him. When she faced round again he was
standing up, his back towards her. She stood up also. He was silent for a while; so long that the silence
became intolerable, and she spoke:

'Leonard, I am waiting!' He turned round and said slowly, the absence of
all emotion from his face chilling her till her face blanched:

'I don't think I would worry about it!' Stephen Norman was plucky, and when she was face to face with any
difficulty she was all herself. Leonard did not look pleasant; his face
was hard and there was just a suspicion of anger. Strangely enough, this
last made the next step easier to the girl; she said slowly:

'All right! I think I understand!' He turned from her and stood looking out on the distant prospect. Then
she felt that the blow which she had all along secretly feared had fallen
on her. But her pride as well as her obstinacy now rebelled. She would
not accept a silent answer. There must be no doubt left to torture her
afterwards. She would take care that there was no mistake. Schooling
herself to her task, and pressing one hand for a moment to her side as
though to repress the beating of her heart, she came behind him and
touched him tenderly on the arm. 'Leonard,' she said softly, 'are you sure there is no mistake? Do you
not see that I am asking you,' she intended to say 'to be my husband,'
but she could not utter the words, they seemed to stick in her mouth, so
she finished the sentence: 'that I be your wife?' The moment the words were spoken--the bare, hard, naked, shameless
words--the revulsion came. As a lightning flash shows up the blackness
of the night the appalling truth of what she had done was forced upon
her. The blood rushed to her head till cheeks and shoulders and neck
seemed to burn. Covering her face with her hands she sank back on the
seat crying silently bitter tears that seemed to scald her eyes and her
cheeks as they ran. Leonard was angry. When it began to dawn upon him what was the purpose
of Stephen's speech, he had been shocked. Young men are so easily
shocked by breaches of convention made by women they respect! And his
pride was hurt. Why should he have been placed in such a ridiculous
position! He did not love Stephen in that way; and she should have known
it. He liked her and all that sort of thing; but what right had she to
assume that he loved her? All the weakness of his moral nature came out
in his petulance. It was boyish that his eyes filled with tears. He
knew it, and that made him more angry than ever. Stephen might well have
been at a loss to understand his anger, as, with manifest intention to
wound, he answered her:

'What a girl you are, Stephen. You are always doing something or other
to put a chap in the wrong and make him ridiculous. I thought you were
joking--not a good joke either! Upon my soul, I don't know what I've
done that you should fix on me! I wish to goodness--'

If Stephen had suffered the red terror before, she suffered the white
terror now. It was not injured pride, it was not humiliation, it was not
fear; it was something vague and terrible that lay far deeper than any of
these. Under ordinary circumstances she would have liked to have spoken
out her mind and given back as good as she got; and even as the thoughts
whirled through her brain they came in a torrent of vague vituperative
eloquence. But now her tongue was tied. Instinctively she knew that she
had put it out of her power to revenge, or even to defend herself. She
was tied to the stake, and must suffer without effort and in silence. Most humiliating of all was the thought that she must propitiate the man
who had so wounded her. All love for him had in the instant passed from
her; or rather she realised fully the blank, bare truth that she had
never really loved him at all. Had she really loved him, even a blow at
his hands would have been acceptable; but now . . . She shook the feelings and thoughts from her as a bird does the water
from its wings; and, with the courage and strength and adaptability of
her nature, addressed herself to the hard task which faced her in the
immediate present. With eloquent, womanly gesture she arrested the
torrent of Leonard's indignation; and, as he paused in surprised
obedience, she said:

'That will do, Leonard!