The girl hesitated.
Then she said slowly:
“You and I have always been good pals, Mother, so I may as well tell you. Robin had just asked me to marry him. So I told him I was engaged to Hartley. He went on in the most awful way, and said that I was selling myself and that I would not be the first girl that Hartley had kept ...”
She broke off and raised her hands to her face. Then she put her elbows on the mantel-shelf and burst into tears.
“Oh, it was hateful,” she sobbed.
Her mother put her arm round her soothingly.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “Robin was always fond of you, and I dare say it was a shock to him. When men feel like that about a girl they generally say things they don’t mean ...”
Mary Trevert straightened herself up and dropped her hands to her side. She faced her mother, the tear-drops glistening on her long lashes.
“He meant it, every word of it. And he was perfectly right. I was selling myself, and you know I was, Mother. Do you think we can go on for ever like this, living on credit and dodging tradesmen? I meant to marry Hartley and stick to him. But I never thought ... I never guessed ... that Robin ...”
“I know, my dear,” her mother interposed, “I know. Perhaps it doesn’t sound a very proper thing to say in the circumstances, but now that poor Hartley is gone, there is no reason whatsoever why you and Robin ...”