“No,” she answered, “it was my fault. I’m a proud devil, Robin, and what you said about Hartley and ... and ... other women, Robin, hurt and ... and made me angry. No, no, don’t apologize again. You and I are old enough friends, my dear, to tell one another the truth. You made me angry because what you said was true. I was selling myself, selling myself with my eyes open, too, and you’ve got a perfect right never to speak to me again ...”
She did not finish the sentence but broke off. Her voice died away quaveringly. Robin took her hand in his.
“Dear,” he said, “don’t cry! It’s over and done with now ...”
Mary shook herself with an angry gesture.
“What’s the good of telling me not to cry?” she protested tearfully; “I’ve disgraced myself in my own eyes as well as in yours. If you can’t forget what I was ready to do, I never shall ...”
Very gently the young man turned the girl towards him.
“I’m not such a prig as all that,” he said. “We all make mistakes. You know I understand the position you were in. Parrish is dead. I shall forget the rest ...”
Slowly the girl withdrew her hands from his grasp.
“Yes,” she said wearily, “you will find it easy to forget!”
She drew her fur closer about her neck and turned her back on the sea.