"He has put me in a peculiar position," said Mildred. "Or, rather, I have let myself drift into a peculiar position. For I think you're right in saying that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences. But I've got to—to talk. I'd like you to advise me, if you can. But even if you don't, it'll do me good to say things aloud."
"Often one sees more clearly," was Cyrilla's reply—noncommittal, yet not discouraging.
"I'm free to marry him," Mildred went on. "That is, I'm not married. I'd rather not explain—"
"Don't," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's unnecessary."
"You know that it's Stanley who has been lending me the money to live on while I study. Well, from the beginning I've been afraid I'd find myself in a difficult position."
"Naturally," said Mrs. Brindley, as she paused.
"But I've always expected it to come in another way—not about marriage, but—"
"I understand," said Mrs. Brindley. "You feared you'd be called on to pay in the way women usually pay debts to men."
Mildred nodded. "But this is worse than I expected—much worse."
"I hadn't thought of that," said Cyrilla. "Yes, you're right. If he had hinted the other thing, you could have pretended not to understand. If he had suggested it, you could have made him feel cheap and mean."