"Perhaps not," said Cynthia. "I could never feel that love is sufficient. Some people regard love as a civilized instinct; others as a side-dish. With me it is a side-dish."
"Those who regard it as a side-dish are less likely to get into trouble," said Lady Theodosia.
" I don't know about that," said Cynthia, "because—I don't mind telling you now, since it is all over—I certainly was very much in love, in my way, with Godfrey Provence. Even at the last minute I would have broken off with Edward and married him, if he had seemed to care much about my letter, that time. I really wrote it in a temper—he might have read between the lines. It only proves how things work for the best. I know now that he didn't care for me in the least. I have not heard from him since—not a word, not a line."
"Perhaps he has been ill," suggested Lady Theodosia.
"III!" said Cynthia. "His novel was published yesterday. I read the announcement in The Times. That does not sound like illness. No, he subordinates everything to his writing. He liked me well enough till I seemed to interfere with that. If I had had red hair and a bad complexion, he would have hated the sight of me. But then," she went on, relapsing into her former voice of indifference, "what does it matter one way or the other ? Of course, I gave myself a great deal of unnecessary unhappiness at the time. I started on my wedding tour the most miserable woman in the world. I prayed that the boat might sink which took us to Calais. I should probably have died of fright if it had. I am merely telling you all this to prove to you how silly a girl can be if she