"Of course you're right. But there's only one to me—to get away, away, away!"
"It's just about five years since you came here with your mother—about the marriage-settlement. I thought it rather rough you should come to me, I remember."
"Mother didn't know about the—the sentimental reason against it, Hobart—and it doesn't matter now, does it? And poor mother's beyond being troubled over me."
"Where will you go—if you do go?"
"I am going. I shall stay with the Aikenheads for a bit—till I'm settled on my own."
"Have you hinted anything about it to—him?"
"To Cyril? No. I must tell him. Of course he knows that I'm silly enough to think that I'm unhappy."
"It'll be an awful facer for him, won't it?"
She walked round the table and stood looking at him squarely, yet with a deprecatory droop of her mouth.
"Yes, it will," she said. "Awful! But, Hobart, I not only have no love left, I've no pity left. He has crushed a great deal in me, and he has crushed that with the rest."