“Nearly six months. Why?”
“And you’ve never thought of any other man?”
Alice shook her head. For once she was quite serious.
“Couldn’t look at another man. Robb hasn’t got two cents to his name, but I’m going to marry him or––or––die an old maid.”
For a moment the expression of Prudence’s face relaxed, but a moment later it set itself into more stern lines than ever.
“Alice, you were right in what you said about George,” she went on slowly. “I can hardly believe it myself yet. Leslie Grey has only been dead eight months, and yet here I am thinking all day long of another man. I believe I am utterly heartless––worthless.”
“Well?”
“Well, it’s just this. I am not worth an honest man’s love. I used to think I worshipped the ground poor Leslie walked on––I’m sure I loved him to distraction,” the girl went on passionately. “Very well; suppose George asked me to marry him and I consented. In all probability, in the light of what has gone before, I should be tired of him in a year, and then––and then–––”
“You’re talking nonsense now, Prue,” said Alice. She was alarmed at the other’s tone. The beautiful face of her friend was quite pale, and sharp lines were drawn about the mouth.
“I’m not talking nonsense,” the other went on in a tense, bitter tone. “What I say is true. In less 173 than eight months I have forgotten the dead. I have done nothing to discover the murderer who robbed me of a husband and lover. I have simply forgotten––forgotten him. Put yourself in my place––put your Robb in Leslie’s place. What would you have done?”