She heard again, in the midst of her delirious thoughts, the nice, prosaic emotion of her voice as she said: "_Don't_ thank me--don't.

Just let us _enjoy_ ourselves." And she might have been lying among the long, thick weeds of the pond.
And it would not have been the accident it would have appeared to be.

Of that she felt sure.

Brought face to face with this definiteness of situation, she began to shudder.
She went out into the night feeling that she wanted air.

She was not strong enough to stand the realisation that she had become part of a web into which she had not meant to be knitted.