If the cad can flourish a trifle of worldly success in
front of her, or if he's a mere adventurer and flashes himself on her
boldly enough, _or_, if she has persuaded herself to pity him, she's
just fascinated, and you can't trust her judgment ten yards.
There! . . . I've burnt my boats."
Constantia sat for some while pondering this, breathing out the smoke
of her cigarette, gazing into the fire under the shade of a
handscreen.
"I'll tell you another thing, Roddy," she said at length; "and it's
as true and truer. No woman thinks worse of a man for burning his
boats. . . . But it isn't quite worldly success to be wrecked and
left desolate on an island three hundred miles from anywhere.
It all started (as you hinted) with my pitying him and admiring his
strength of will after the awful experience he had tholed."
"He left you just now? I saw him drive away, and his infernal dog
with him."
"Yes: there had been a pretty bad scene. I was furious, and Mamma
was so much upset that I doubt if she'll be fit to talk to-night.
But it's a blessed relief to her, now that she knows you are anchored
here for a while, to protect us, and that, at the worst, we can ring
up Jermyn Street.
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