"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden—it is a position of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect for the Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affair of the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break the engagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"
The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory, and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No, she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.
When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed and went to look at herself in the glass. She couldn't possibly go downstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of hunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice of bread and butter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and now she wanted food. Several minutes passed.
"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.
A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.
"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinner brought up to her?"
"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from the direction of the door so that Louise could not see it.
"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"
Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different! And soup—only soup!
"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner—any dinner."