sort. Father spent all her money for her and she was brought up in
exactly the same helpless way as she brought up me. I can do absolutely
nothing except the sort of elementary nursing which we all learnt in the
war, and if I don't marry well Mother will have to keep a boarding-house
or do something ghastly like that. I'm not going to pretend that I'm
thinking only of her, because I'm not. I can't face a long engagement
with no prospects except castles in Spain. I don't mean to be callous,
Robin, but I expect I am naturally hard. Hartley Parrish is a good sort.
He's very fond of me, and he will see that Mother lives comfortably for
the rest of her life. I've promised to marry him because I like him and
he's a suitable match. And I don't see by what right you try and run him
down to me behind his back! If it's jealousy, then it shows a very petty
spirit!"

Robin Greve stepped close up to Mary Trevert. His eyes were very angry
and his jaw was set very square.

"If you are determined to sell yourself to the highest bidder," he said,
"I suppose there's no stopping you. But you're making a mistake. If
Parrish were all you claim for him, you might not repent of his marriage
so long as you did not care for somebody else. But I know you love me,
and it breaks my heart to see you blundering into everlasting
unhappiness ..."

"At least Hartley will be able to keep me," the girl flashed out.
Directly she had spoken she regretted her words.

A red flush spread slowly over Robin Greve's face.

Then he laughed drily.