The young girl rose, flinging her scarf over her shoulders with a violent
gesture.

"There's no common sense in it."

"No _common_ sense, perhaps."

"It's a jolly sight better than sentiment when it comes to marrying."

They kissed. Mona turned at the doorway.

"I say--did he go on caring for you?"

"Sometimes I think he did. Sometimes I think he hated me."

"Of course he hated you, after what you'd let him in for." She paused.
"You don't _mind_ my telling you the truth, do you?"

... Harriett sat a long time, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes
staring into the room, trying to see the truth. She saw the girl, Robin's
niece, in her young indignation, her tender brilliance suddenly hard,
suddenly cruel, flashing out the truth. Was it true that she had
sacrificed Robin and Priscilla and Beatrice to her parents' idea of moral
beauty? Was it true that this idea had been all wrong? That she might have
married Robin and been happy and been right?

"I don't care. If it was to be done again to-morrow I'd do it."

But the beauty of that unique act no longer appeared to her as it once