And Roddy might depart from his habits and inclinations once again, and write Martin a letter of condolence.
No, no. She was going to show him she did not care, was not weeping for him: she was going to announce her engagement to Martin before long.
There would be a paragraph in ‘The Times,’ congratulations, letters to write—(I am a very lucky girl)—a pretty ring—and almost certainly photographs in the illustrated weeklies.
Roddy would smile his cynical smile because she had behaved just as women always did behave: so long as they hooked some poor devil—no matter whom—they were quite satisfied. And a damned fuss they made if a chap refused to be hooked.
Martin would probably insist on being married in Church, and ask Roddy to be his best man.
No. Poor Martin was not going to be able to save her. Perhaps, instead, she was going to destroy him.
She went back to bed and tossed between her sheets till dawn.
6
Next morning Martin’s face of suppressed excitement shewed only too clearly how deeply the web was tangled now.
She went with him after breakfast to visit his little farm.