I crept into bed and thought miserably of what Anthony Cardew would
think of me when he should hear of my disgrace. Of course he would not
know why I had married Richard Dawson. He had yielded me up to poor
Theobald as he thought, and instead of Theobald, whom I might have loved
if I had never seen Anthony Cardew--handsome, generous, of honourable
lineage, he would know that I had married Richard Dawson, with his bad
traditions behind him, and himself a wild, careless liver, with many
sins to his account. He would never know how I loathed it. Perhaps he
would even think that I married for money. Even if I were dead, and I
felt I must die of marrying Richard Dawson, he could never think of me
except with contempt and loathing.
The next morning Maureen came with my tea.
"Why are you looking like alabaster on your pillow?" she asked, with
some indignation. "There's good news coming, I tell you. There's good
news coming. See how fine the morning is! I never slept a sweeter sleep,
and it was in my sleep I had word."
I shrank even from Maureen's half-mad eyes. What would she say when she
knew that I was to marry Richard Dawson? She had always loved Theobald
and had looked forward to our marriage.
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