She drew in deep breaths of the salt air—cold, invigorating as it always was here after sunset on the warmest days; and all her mind was bent on despising him as he deserved. She tried to put her contempt into words, so as to make it more real. "He's no good. I'm well rid of him. I wouldn't have anything to do with him now, not if he were to crawl after me on his hands and knees from here to Flamborough."
But the silence of the evening gave back an answer which she was obliged to hear in her heart; and she told herself, though with less certainty: "I won't care; I will end by not caring. He's not worth it."
But at last she did manage to flick the raw place until she was really bitter against him. For the sudden thought came to her that he dare not have behaved to a girl of his own sort in the same way as he had done to her. It was because he looked down on her that he could do it.
Then she saw the two girls coming her way down the road again, and hurried up the side street in order to escape them. But they followed, evidently going to the promenade, so she turned down to the shore where she was certain of being alone at this season and this hour. As she went along, a most vivid sense of this waste of her youth's bright happiness came across her. "I will forget him! I aren't going to be made miserable just by falling in love," she said to herself, half sobbing—a little figure running along through the twilight by the edge of the sea like a leaf driven by the wind, flinging defiance at the god of love whom no change can displace.
Chapter XXII
Morning
It was two days later, and Caroline was going down to cash a cheque for Mrs. Bradford. There had been a slight touch of frost in the night, and the atmosphere was so rarified this morning that every object seemed to meet the eye with equal distinctness—with the effect, somehow, of a Dutch painting. A little black dog jumping up excitedly outside the fishmonger's, a woman in the doorway of the little toy-shop taking down a bundle of wooden spades, a red-faced farmer getting out of his trap at the bank—all looked equally clear, lacking the usual hazy effect of the damp air. It was partly for this reason, perhaps, that Caroline felt as if everybody were pressing round her, and trying to read her thoughts. Though the toy-shop woman called out a pleasant "good morning," after her habit, Caroline thought she peered curiously from behind her grove of spades, and that she was no doubt wondering what it felt like to be made the "talk of the place"—especially by a gentleman who allowed stout, middle-aged Mr. Creddle to threaten horse-whipping with impunity. Then in going past the fish-shop, the very cod seemed to turn a contemptuous, lack-lustre eye upon her, as if they also said to each other: "There goes the girl who was made a fool of by a man who never really meant to marry her."
But it was the worst when she caught sight of the hoarding on the little Picture Hall. For suddenly the phrase which she had seen there on the film flashed across her mind with such vividness that it seemed to be written in dancing, bright letters across the sunshiny street: "I swear I want to marry you."
She felt dizzy, then it passed. It was true enough, of course. Men did always say that, as Aunt Creddle had told her. She was only one of the millions of silly girls so easily deceived. And she went down the street, feeling that from every eye streamed out a baleful ray which reached and hurt the sore place in her heart.