"It is odd that she should be so vindictive," he said, wearily.
Cicely shrugged her shoulders. She was intensely interested in the little brown pot of soup which the waiter had brought them.
"Joan is very peculiar," she said. "When I think of her I feel like a doll. She is as strong as steel. I think that she cared for you, Douglas, and, putting aside everything else, you behaved shamefully to her."
"She is not like other women," he answered decidedly. "Her caring for me was not a matter of sentiment. Her father ordered, and she obeyed. She knew quite well that it was exactly the same with me. I have never uttered a word of affection to her in my life. Our engagement was an utter farce."
"Still I believe she cared," Cicely continued; "and I believe that, apart from anything else, a sort of slow anger towards you is rankling in her heart all the time."
"I was a coward," Douglas said decidedly. "Even now I cannot understand why for a moment I ever accepted such an impossible situation."
Cicely showed all her teeth—she had fine, white teeth—in a brilliant smile.
"Joan would be quite handsome," she said, "if she were decently dressed."
"Some people might think so," he answered. "She wouldn't be my style.
I think I agreed, because in those days we all seemed to do exactly what
your Father ordered. Besides, the thing was sprung upon me so suddenly.
It took my breath away.
"That was rather like Father," she remarked. "He liked taking us by storm. Now I want to hear how you have got on, and what you are doing. Let us drop the past for a little while, at any rate."