“Then what do you think I ought to do?”
“That’s where I find you weak, Letty, since you ask me the question. No one can tell you what to 252 do—and he least of all. It’s a situation in which one of you must withdraw—either you or the other girl. But, don’t you see? he can’t say so to either.”
“And if one of us must withdraw you think it should be me.”
“I have to leave that to you. You’re the one who butted in. I know it wasn’t your fault—that the fault was his entirely; but we recognize the fact that he’s—how shall I put it?—not quite responsible. We women have to take the burden of the thing on ourselves, if it’s ever to be put right.”
In her corner of the car Letty thought this over. The impression on her mind was the deeper since, for several months past, she had watched the prince growing more and more unhappy. He was less nervous than he used to be, less excitable; and for that he had told her the credit was due to herself. “You soothe me,” he had once said to her, in words she would always treasure; and yet as his irritability decreased his unhappiness seemed to grow. She could only infer that he was mourning over the girl to whom he was engaged, and on whom he had inflicted a great wrong. For the last few weeks Letty’s mind had occupied itself with her almost more than with the prince himself.
“Do you think I shall ever see her?” she asked, suddenly now.
Barbara reflected. “I think you could if you wanted to.”
“Should you arrange it?”
“I could.”
“You’re sure she’d be willing to see me?”