“What did you do for her? You insulted Aunt Prissie.”
“Insulted her? My dear Mona!”
“It was an insult, handing her over to a man who couldn’t love her even with his body. Aunt Prissie was the miserablest of the lot. Do you suppose he didn’t take it out of her?”
“He never let her know.”
“Oh, didn’t he! She knew all right. That’s how she got her illness. And it’s how he got his. And he’ll kill Aunt Beatie. He’s taking it out of her now. Look at the awful suffering. And you can go on sentimentalizing about it.”
The young girl rose, flinging her scarf over her shoulders with a violent gesture.
“There’s no common sense in it.”
“No common sense, perhaps.”
“It’s a jolly sight better than sentiment when it comes to marrying.”
They kissed. Mona turned at the doorway.