people, and I admire them very much, but I _can't_ go their way. It
seems to me that it would be dreadful, dreadful, to live one's life
alone. Don't turn round and snap at me; I want to tell you the truth
whilst you can't see me. Whenever I think of Alice and Virginia, I am
frightened; I had rather, oh, far rather, kill myself than live such a
life at their age. You can't imagine how miserable they are, really.
And I have the same nature as theirs, you know. Compared with you and
Miss Haven I'm very weak and childish.'

After drumming on the table for a moment, with wrinkled brows, Mildred
made grave response.

'You must let _me_ tell the truth as well. I think you're going to
marry with altogether wrong ideas. I think you'll do an injustice to
Mr. Widdowson. You will marry him for a comfortable home--that's what
it amounts to. And you'll repent it bitterly some day--you'll repent.'

Monica raised herself and stood apart.

'For one thing,' pursued Mildred, with nervous earnestness, 'he's too
old. Your habits and his won't suit.'

'He has assured me that I shall live exactly the kind of life I please.
And that will be what _he_ pleases. I feel his kindness to me very
much, and I shall do my utmost to repay him.'

'That's a very nice spirit; but I believe married life is no easy thing
even when the people are well matched. I have heard the most dreadful
stories of quarrelling and all sorts of unhappiness between people I
thought safe from any such dangers. You _may_ be fortunate; I only say
that the chances are very much against it, marrying from such motives
as you confess.'

Monica drew herself up.

'I haven't confessed any motive to be ashamed of, Milly.'

'You say you have decided to marry now because you are afraid of never
having another chance.'

'No; that's turning it very unkindly. I only said that _after_ I had
told you that I did love him. And I do love him. He has made me love
him.'

'Then I have no right to say any more. I can only wish you happiness.'

Mildred heaved a sigh, and pretended to give her attention to Maunder.

After waiting irresolutely for some minutes, Monica looked for
notepaper, and took it, together with her inkstand, into the bedroom.
She was absent half an hour. On her return there was a stamped letter
in her hand.

'It is going, Milly.'

'Very well, dear. I have nothing more to say.'

'You give me up for lost. We shall see.'

It was spoken light-heartedly. Again s