She thought it very natural of her to be angry and jealous about
Paul. She was determined that this month at Little Harben should put
everything right. Looking back over these past years she blamed
herself severely. She had been proud, self-centred, unfeeling. She
remembered that day so long ago at St. Dreot's when Aunt Anne had
appealed for her affection and she had made no reply. There had been
many days, too, in London when she had been rebellious and hard. She
thought of that night when Aunt Anne had suffered so terribly and
she had wanted only her own escape. Yes--hard and unselfish that was
what she had been, and she had been punished by losing Martin.
Already here, just as before in London, she was complaining and
angry, and unsympathetic. She did care for Paul--she could even love
Grace if she would let her. She would make everything right this
summer and try and be a better, kinder woman.
Then, one morning, she found a letter on the breakfast table. She
did not recognise the handwriting; when she opened it and saw the
signature at the end for a moment she also did not recognise that.
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