Margaret's expression became strange indeed. "I am not flirting with him," she said gravely. "I'm going to marry him."
Lucia was too amazed to speak, was so profoundly shocked that her usually rosy cheeks grew almost pale.
"Yes, I shall marry him," repeated Margaret slowly.
"But you don't love him!" cried Lucia.
"I dislike him," replied Margaret. After a pause she added: "When a woman makes up her mind to marry a man, willy-nilly, she begins to hate him. It's a case of hunter and hunted. Perhaps, after she's got him, she may change. But not till the trap springs—not till the game's bagged."
Lucia shuddered. "Oh, Rita!" she cried. And she turned away to bury her face in her arms.
"I suppose I oughtn't to tell you these things," pursued Margaret; "I ought to leave you your illusions as long as possible. But—why shouldn't you know the truth? Perhaps, if we all faced the truth about things, instead of sheltering ourselves in lies, the world would begin to improve."
"But I don't see why you chose him," persisted Lucia.
"I didn't. Fate did the choosing."
"But why not somebody like—like Grant Arkwright? Rita, I'm sure he's fond of you."