"You think he doesn't?"
"I am certain he doesn't."
"Why?"
"Firstly—because he tries so hard.... And then, also, there is another reason. This morning, when I told him that I would not marry him, he was glad."
"Glad? No—no——"
"He was. I could see the relief come into his eyes. His mind was full of thoughts about his friends in England, and about the railway accident—he really didn't want to bother about me. And when I refused him he looked so grateful. He was glad because it made it easier for him to go to England. He does want to go to England. And I—all I want is for the best to happen—the best for him."
I told her frankly that I was disappointed, and that I thought she was making a great mistake. She ought, I said, to have accepted him; he would soon have come to love her afterwards.
"Or else to hate me," she said quietly.
"Oh, that's absurd, Mizzi."
"No, no. He cannot help loving her—maybe, some day, if we were married, he could not help hating me. You see, I am cautious. I look to the future."