Again she tried to concentrate—haul her thoughts into line. They came
sluggishly.
Married . . . she was married . . . married to Bob—Bob Minter, one of
her father’s grooms. She had done it because she loved him. She had
married him in London that morning, and——That morning? Was it possible
that it was only that morning? Was it only that morning that the
registrar had bowed and . . .
Her thoughts began to slip away. She let them go.
She stared at her wedding-ring . . . touched—plucked at it desperately.
The hideous queries and answers leapt like rams possessed.
“Why? God knows. . . . How can I? I must. . . . What? _Nothing._”
For an instant panic fear looked out of her steady grey eyes.