"And, after all, what has Maurice done that you should be so hard with him? Many a man has loved another woman before his marriage. That old story——"
"It isn't that," says Tita suddenly. "It is"—she lays her hands on Margaret's shoulders, and regards her earnestly and with agitation—"it is that I fear myself."
"You fear"—uncertainly—"that you don't love him?"
"Pshaw!" says Tita, letting her go, and rising to her feet, as though to sit still is impossible to her. "What a speech from you to me—you, who know all! Love him! I am sure about that, at all events. I know I don't."
"Are you so sure?"
"Positive—positive!"
"What? Not even one doubt?"
"Not one."
"What is your fear, then?" asks Margaret.
"That even if I went back to him, took up my old position, asked his guests to our house, and so on, that sooner or later I should quarrel with him a second time, and then this dreadful work would have to be done all over again."