To ask her for passion or for certainty seemed like asking that damp prospect for fierce blades of fire, or the faded sky for the intense blue vault of June.
He went on now to tell her of his love for her, in words which bore, even to her critical senses, the stamp of truth; but none of this touched her, until, coming to a gate whose hinge was rusty, he heaved it open with his shoulder, still talking and taking no account of his effort.

The virility of this deed impressed her; and yet, normally, she attached no value to the power of opening gates.

The strength of muscles has nothing to do on the face of it with the strength of affections; nevertheless, she felt a sudden concern for this power running to waste on her account, which, combined with a desire to keep possession of that strangely attractive masculine power, made her rouse herself from her torpor.
Why should she not simply tell him the truth--which was that she had accepted him in a misty state of mind when nothing had its right shape or size?
that it was deplorable, but that with clearer eyesight marriage was out of the question?
She did not want to marry any one.

She wanted to go away by herself, preferably to some bleak northern moor, and there study mathematics and the science of astronomy.

Twenty words would explain the whole situation to him.