She sighed.
“I’m telling you just what happened,” she reminded him. “It seemed the only way to get what I wanted. I thought I shouldn’t mind that, or—anything, if I could only have as much money as I needed.”
A sense of sudden violent anger flared up within him. Did the girl realize what she was saying?
She glanced up at him.
“I never meant to tell any one about that part of it,” she said hurriedly. “And—it wasn’t necessary, after all; I got the money another way.”
He bit off the point of a pencil he had been sharpening with laborious care.
“I should probably never have had a chance to marry a millionaire,” she concluded reminiscently. “I’m not beautiful enough.”
With what abominable clearness she understood the game: the marriage-market; the buyer and the price.
“I—didn’t suppose you were like that,” he muttered, after what seemed a long silence.
She seemed faintly surprised.