“No. She didn’t. She thought of herself. Of her own moral beauty. She was a selfish fool.”
“She asked the best and wisest man she knew, and he told her she couldn’t do anything else.”
“The best and wisest man—oh, Lord!”
“That was my own father, Mona, Hilton Frean.”
“Then it was you. You and Uncle Robin and Aunt Prissie.”
Harriett’s face smiled its straight, thin-lipped smile, the worn, grooved chin arrogantly lifted.
“How could you?”
“I could because I was brought up not to think of myself before other people.”
“Then it wasn’t even your own idea. You sacrificed him to somebody else’s. You made three people miserable just for that. Four, if you count Aunt Beatie.”
“There was Prissie. I did it for her.”