She stood still, her hands hanging by her sides—clenched hands that the rings bit into.
"He will go to her early to-morrow. And she'll accept him, of course. She's never seen anyone else, the little fool."
She knew that she herself would have taken him, would have chosen him as the chief among ten thousand.
"She could have Temple. She'd be much happier with Temple. She and Eustace would make each other wretched. She'd never understand him, and he'd be tired of her in a week."
She had turned up the electric lights now, at her toilet table, and was pulling the pins out of her ruffled hair.
"And he'd never care about her children. And they'd be ugly little horrors."
She was twisting her hair up quickly and firmly.
"I have a right to live my own life," she said, just as Betty had said six months before. "Why am I to sacrifice everything to her—especially when I don't suppose she cares—and now that I know I could get him if she were out of the way?"
She looked at herself in the silver-framed mirror and laughed.
"And you always thought yourself a proud woman!"