loving plane -- but there beyond, where there is no speech and no terms of agreement. There we are two stark, unknown beings, two utterly strange creatures, I would want to approach you, and you me. And there could be no obligation, because there is no standard for action there, because no understanding has been reaped from that plane. It is quite inhuman, -- so there can be no calling to book, in any form whatsoever -- because one is outside the pale of all that is accepted, and nothing known applies. One can only follow the impulse, taking that which lies in front, and responsible for nothing, asked for nothing, giving nothing, only each taking according to the primal desire.'

Ursula listened to this speech, her mind dumb and almost senseless, what he said was so unexpected and so untoward.

`It is just purely selfish,' she said.

`If it is pure, yes. But it isn't selfish at all. Because I don't know what I want of you. I deliver myself over to the unknown, in coming to you, I am without reserves or defences, stripped entirely, into the unknown. Only there needs the pledge between us, that we will both cast off everything, cast off ourselves even, and cease to be, so that that which is perfectly ourselves can take place in us.'

She pondered along her own line of thought.

`But it is because you love me, that you want me?' she persisted.

`No it isn't. It is because I believe in you -- if I do believe in you.'

`Aren't you sure?' she laughed, suddenly hurt.

He was looking at her steadfastly, scarcely heeding what she said.

`Yes, I must believe in you, or else I shouldn't be here saying this,' he replied. `But that is all the proof I have. I don't feel any very strong belief at this particular moment.'

She disliked him for this sudden relapse into weariness and faithlessness.

`But don't you think me good-looking?' she persisted, in a mocking voice.

He looked at her, to see if he felt that she was good-looking.

`I don't feel that you're good-looking,' he said.

`Not even attractive?' she mocked, bitingly.

He knitted his brows in sudden exasperation.

`Don't you see that it's not a question of visual appreciation in the least,' he cried. `I don't want to see you. I've seen plenty of women, I'm sick and weary of seeing them. I want a woman I don't see.'

`I'm sorry I can't oblige you by being invisible,' she laughed.

`Yes,' he said, `you are invisible to me, if you don't force me to be visually aware of you. But I don't want to see you or hear you.'

`What did you ask me to tea for, then?' she mocked.

But he would take no notice of her. He was talking to himself.