“Oh, I don’t know,” Yootha answered awkwardly. “Men are queer animals. I have always said so. At one time I made up my mind never to marry.”
“But changed it directly you had the privilege of meeting Captain Preston.”
She spoke almost with a sneer.
“Not directly,” the girl said weakly, conscious that, had she drunk less champagne and had all her wits about her, she would have said something different, would have stood up for her lover.
Jessica edged a little closer to her.
“Why not give him up?” she murmured so that nobody but Yootha could hear. “He has not treated you well; he has not played the game, has he now? Just think—he is supposed to be your lover, yet after swearing, as I am sure he has done, he has never in his life before met any woman to approach you, he leaves you alone, lets you go roaming about the Continent with two men and a woman he intensely dislikes, and himself calmly returns to England without even wishing you good-by! Does that look like true love, dear? Does it look like love at all? Supposing a man you knew nothing about were going to marry some friend of yours, what would you think, what would you say, if all at once he treated her like this? Take my advice, Yootha,” she went on, speaking lower still, “give him up. Write to him to-morrow; come up to my room and write to him at once; saying that in view of all that has happened you have decided to break off your engagement. He won’t break his heart—break his heart, I should think not!—and believe me, you will one day thank me for having saved you from marrying a man who doesn’t love you.”
As she stopped speaking she refilled the girl’s glass with champagne.
“And now listen to me,” she ended under her breath. “I have something serious to say to you.”