Lois stayed in the "attic" that morning in an odd confusion of mind. Margery was jealous, of course; that was what had made her say those things. Her discovery of her love for Grenfell filled her with joy, so that she could scarcely realise Margery; moreover the uncertainty that had been troubling her for months was over, but behind these feelings was a curious new sense of loss, a sense that she refused to face. Life without Margery—what would it be? But she turned from that and, with joyful anticipation, thought of her new career.
She decided at once to dismiss Margery from her thoughts—not only partially, but altogether, so that no fragment of her should be left. That was her only way to be comfortable. She had on earlier occasions been forced to dismiss people thus absolutely; she had not found it difficult, and she had enjoyed in the doing of it a certain sense that she was finishing them, and that they would be sorry now for what they had done. But with Margery she saw that that would be difficult. Margery had been with her so long, had given her so much praise and encouragement, was associated in so many ways with so many places. She would return again and again, an obstinate ghost, slipping into scenes and thoughts where she should not be. Lois discovered herself watching the post, listening to the telephone, her heart beating at the sudden opening and shutting of a door ... but Margery did not return.
She centred herself then absolutely around young Grenfell. She demanded of him twice what she had demanded before because Margery was gone. There was something feverish now in her possession of him. She was not contented and easy as she had been, but must have him absolutely. She was anxious that he should propose to her soon and end this period of doubt and discomfort. She knew, of course, that he would propose—it was merely a question of time—but there was something old-fashioned about him: a sort of naïveté which hindered him perhaps from coming forward too quickly.
She was not alone with him very much, because she thought it was good for him to see how other men admired her. She gathered around her more than before the men with whom she might be on thoroughly equal terms, as though in defiance of Margery's final taunt to her. It was as though she said to that perpetually interfering ghost: "Well, if you will come back and remind me, you shall see that you were wrong in what you said. Men do like me for the very things of which you disapproved ... and they shall like me more and more."
She thought Grenfell understood that it was because of him that Margery had gone.
"She was jealous of you," she said, laughing. "I'm sure I don't know why she should have been.... You never liked one another, did you? Poor Margery! She's old-fashioned. She ought to have lived fifty years ago."
She was surprised when he said, "Did she dislike me? Of course we used to fight, but I didn't think it meant anything; I didn't dislike her. I'm so sorry you've quarrelled."
He seemed really concerned about it. One day he amazed her by saying that he'd seen Margery. They had met somewhere and had a talk. Lois's heart leapt.
"I'm ready to forgive her," she said, "for what she did. But of course things can never be quite the same again."