All this in a flash of consciousness, whilst she pressed her sister closer to her side.  Then: 

‘And what did you say, dear?’

‘I said I would, Lyddy.’

The elder sister became very grave.  She bit first her lower, then her upper lip.

‘You said that at once, Thyrza?’

‘Yes.  I felt I must.’

‘You felt you must?’

Thyrza could but inadequately explain what she meant by this.  The words involved a truth, but one of which she had no conscious perception.  Gilbert Grail was a man of strong personality, and in no previous moment of life had his being so uttered itself in look and word as when involuntarily he revealed his love.  More, the vehemence of his feeling went forth in that subtle influence with which forcible natures are able to affect now an individual, now a crowd.  Thyrza was very susceptible of such impression; the love which had become all-potent in Gilbert’s heart sensibly moved her own.  Ackroyd had had no power to touch her so; his ardour had never appealed to her imagination with such constraining reality.  Grail was the first to make her conscious of the meaning of passion.  It was not passion which rose within her to reply to his, but the childlike security in which she had hitherto lived was at an end; love was henceforth to be the preoccupation of her soul.

She answered her sister: 

’I couldn’t refuse him.  He said he should love me as long as he lived, and I felt that it was true.  He didn’t try to persuade me, Lyddy.  When I showed how surprised I was, he spoke very kindly, and wanted me to have time to think.’

’But, dearest, you say you were surprised.  You hadn’t thought of such a thing—­I’m sure I hadn’t.  How could you say “yes” at once?’

‘But have I done wrong, Lyddy?’

Lydia was again busy with conjecture, in woman’s way rapidly reading secrets by help of memory and intuition.  She connected this event with what Mary Bower had reported to her of Ackroyd.  If it were indeed true that Ackroyd no longer made pretence of loyalty to his old love, would not Grail’s knowledge of that change account for his sudden abandonment of disguise?  The two were friends; Grail might well have shrunk from entering into rivalry with the younger man.  She felt a convincing clearness in this.  Then it was true that Ackroyd had begun to show an interest in Totty Nancarrow; it was true, she added bitterly, connecting it closely with the other fact, that he haunted public-houses.  Something of that habit she had heard formerly, but thought of it as long abandoned.  How would he hear of Thyrza’s having pledged herself!  Assuredly he had not forgotten her.  She knew him; he could not forget so lightly; it was Thyrza’s disregard that had driven him into folly.

Her sister was repeating the question.

’Oh, why couldn’t you feel in the same way to—­to the other, Thyrza?’ burst from Lydia.  ’He loved you and he still loves you.  Why didn’t you try to feel for him?  You don’t love Mr. Grail.’