“Not likely.”
She spoke again presently. In the interval Peter conjured up the image of Gabriel Stanton, speaking to her as he had to him, refusing compromise, harshly unapproachable, rigid.
“I could never go through what I went through before.”
“You shan’t.”
“What could you do?”
“I’ll find some way ... a medical certificate!”
“The shame of it!” She covered her face with her hands.
“It won’t happen. She’s had her money. He may have rubbed her up the wrong way, but after all she has nothing to gain by interfering.”
“If only I had told him myself! If only I hadn’t lied to him!”
Peter, desperately miserable, walked about the room, interjecting a word now and again, trying to inspirit her.