Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress for
the tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend the
function (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturally
discuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, the
discussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the old
busybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caught
herself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window and
watching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror,
or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herself
vehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known as
toilet.
"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. This
can't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, I
shall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt and
ponder and hesitate?"
At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy!
Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner of
her eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line,
manoeuvering toward her.
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