“If she doesn’t care, why should I?”
All at once, a horrid doubt of Betty took possession of his mind. Once, he had laughed at her outrageous flattery of other men, her open cajolery, her pretty coquetries. Suppose, after all, she had no feeling, and was making sport of his honest heart? Perhaps she had never meant to marry him, and was only amusing herself. There might be another man—at this, Fortescue ground his teeth.
They walked the whole length of the lane without speaking. When they got to the paling surrounding the little lawn of Holly Lodge, Betty spoke, but her evil genius waited upon her tongue that day.
“Of course,” she said, “as we can’t agree, everything is over. But if we appear unfriendly, everybody will notice it, and I do so hate to have people gabbling about me!”
“So do I,” promptly assented Fortescue.
“Then,” said Betty, “we must be as friendly as ever while you are in the county. Luckily, nobody knows anything, except Grandfather, and he will, of course, keep quiet. People here don’t think as much of a man’s attentions to a girl as you do, and other men have danced with me quite as much as you have.”
“No doubt,” replied Fortescue sharply. “I think you were simply amusing yourself all the time. Well, then, I can play that game all right. Good morning.”
He was off, and Betty was walking soberly into the house. The fair day had grown dark, and her heart in her breast was like a stone. Woman-like, she began to defend herself against herself:
“If he is so dictatorial as all that, we never could have got on, so perhaps it is the best thing that we found it out immediately. If a woman gives in at once to a man and never remembers what is due anybody else, she might as well be a slave!”
