“If this is the way I have fulfilled my promise to the dead, if this is the extent and depth of my love, then I am the most worthless woman on earth. What surety can I give that my love for George is a better thing than was my affection for Leslie Grey?”
She sat herself up, she looked over at her companion and noted the drooping eyelids. Her features were strangely set, and her smooth forehead wore a disfiguring frown. Then she spoke in a sharp tone that startled the girl beside her.
“Alice, do you think it is possible to imagine you are in love with a man––I mean, that you honestly believe you love him at the time and really do not?”
Alice endeavoured to collect her wandering thoughts.
“Why, yes, I suppose so. I’ve been in love with a dozen men at one time and another, never longer than a month with any one of them. I never go to a dance but what I fall in love with at least two of my partners, and my undying affection for both just lasts the evening out. Imagination is strongly developed in some people––when they’re young.”
“No, be serious.”
Alice gazed at the other curiously. Then––
“Out with it, Prue. What is it that’s troubling you? Your face is significant of some dire tragedy.”
“How long have you been engaged to Robb Chillingwood?”