"Oh, you never can tell whether Gwenda really likes anything. She may have liked it. She may have liked it awfully. But she couldn't go on liking it forever."
And to Rowcliffe it was as if Mary had said that wasn't Gwenda's way.
"There's no doubt she's done the best thing. For herself, I mean."
Rowcliffe assented. "Perhaps she has."
And Mary, as if doubt had only just occurred to her, made a sudden little tremulous appeal.
"You don't really think Garth was the place for her?"
"I don't really think anything about it," Rowcliffe said.
Mary was pensive. Her brooding look said that she laid a secret fear to rest.
"Garth couldn't satisfy a girl like Gwenda."
Rowcliffe said no, he supposed it couldn't satisfy her. His dejection was by this time terrible. It cast a visible, a palpable gloom.