“No, it’s nothing to do with me. It’s about Roland.”
Although she made no movement, and though the expression of her face did not appear to alter, it seemed to him that, at the mention of Roland’s name, her vitality was stilled suddenly.
“Yes?” she said, and waited for his reply.
“He’s not hurt, or anything. You needn’t be frightened. But he wanted you to know that he has become engaged to Muriel Marston.”
She said nothing for a moment, then in a dazed voice:
“Oh, no, you must be mistaken, it can’t be true, it can’t possibly!”
“But it is, April, really. I’m awfully sorry, but it is.”
She rose from her chair, swayed, steadied herself with her left hand, took a half pace to the window and stood still.
“But what am I to do?” she said. She could not bear to contemplate her life without Roland in it. What would her life become? What else had it been, indeed, for the last four years but Roland the whole time? Whenever she had bought a new frock or a new hat she had wondered how Roland would like her in it. When she had heard an amusing story her first thought had been, “Roland will be amused by that.” When she had opened the paper in the morning she had turned always to the sports’ page first. “Roland will be reading these very words at this very moment.” Roland was the measure of her happiness. It was a good day or a bad day in accordance with Roland’s humor. She would mark in the calendar the days in red and green and yellow—yellow for the unhappy days, when Roland had not seen her, or when he had been unsympathetic; the green days were ordinary days, when she had seen him, but had not been alone with him; her red days were the happy days, when there had been a letter from him in the morning, or when they had been alone together and he had been nice and kissed her and made love prettily to her. Her whole life was Roland. Whenever she was depressed she would comfort herself with the knowledge that in a year or so she would be married and with Roland for always. She could not picture to herself what her life would become now without him. She raised her hand to her head, in dazed perplexity.
“What am I to do?” she repeated. “What am I to do?” Then she pulled herself together. There were several questions that she would wish to have answered. She returned to her seat. “Now tell me, when did this happen, Ralph?”