In this persistent determination of Sally's, Janet would scarcely
have recognized her. But she was driven, the hounds of despair were
at her heels. In such a moment as this, any woman drops the cloak
and stands out, limbs free, to win her own.
"Is it about yourself?" she repeated.
Another suspicion now that he was married--engaged--bound in some
way from which there was no escape--was throbbing, like the
flickering shadow that a candle casts, in a deeply-hidden corner of
her mind. She dared not let it advance, dared not let it become a
palpable fear, yet there it was. And all this time, Traill was looking
at her with steady eyes, behind which the pendulum was once more set
a-swinging.
Should he tell her, should he not? Should he rip out the knife that
would cut this knot which circumstances seemed to be tying?
"You want to know exactly what it is," he said suddenly. "Then it's
this. I'm not the type of man who marries. I've seen marriage with
other men and I've seen quite enough of it. My sister's married;
marriage has the making of women as a rule, it gives them place, power,
they want that--so much the better for them. With marriage, they get
it.
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