Bête, she told herself fiercely. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. "In favour of my son. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique.
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