Don't you see, I didn't know what I was doing ?" "You love some one else ?" he cut her short.
"Absolutely no one." "Henry ?" he demanded.
"Henry?
I should have thought, William, even you--" "There is some one," he persisted.

"There has been a change in the last few weeks.

You owe it to me to be honest, Katharine." "If I could, I would," she replied.
"Why did you tell me you would marry me, then ?" he demanded.
Why, indeed?
A moment of pessimism, a sudden conviction of the undeniable prose of life, a lapse of the illusion which sustains youth midway between heaven and earth, a desperate attempt to reconcile herself with facts--she could only recall a moment, as of waking from a dream, which now seemed to her a moment of surrender.

But who could give reasons such as these for doing what she had done?
She shook her head very sadly.
"But you're not a child--you're not a woman of moods," Rodney persisted.
"You couldn't have accepted me if you hadn't loved me!" he cried.
A sense of her own misbehavior, which she had succeeded in keeping from her by sharpening her consciousness of Rodney's faults, now swept over her and almost overwhelmed her.

What were his faults in comparison with the fact that he cared for her?
What were her virtues in comparison with the fact that she did not care for him?
In a flash the conviction that not to care is the uttermost sin of all stamped itself upon her inmost thought; and she felt herself branded for ever.
He had taken her arm, and held her hand firmly in his, nor had she the force to resist what now seemed to her his enormously superior strength.
Very well; she would submit, as her mother and her aunt and most women, perhaps, had submitted; and yet she knew that every second of such submission to his strength was a second of treachery to him.
"I did say I would marry you, but it was wrong," she forced herself to say, and she stiffened her arm as if to annul even the seeming submission of that separate part of her; "for I don't love you, William; you've noticed it, every one's noticed it; why should we go on pretending?
When I told you I loved you, I was wrong.