nk of him in relation to another woman
without jealousy. It had brought her to this--and she was a wife and
mother!

She had been ashamed when Ted had told her that she would get herself
talked about in connection with Peter, and still more ashamed when he
had accused her of "running after" Peter. But that had been an
endurable shame, for at the heart of it had been self-respect, the
indestructible pride of perfect innocence. But the shame that surged
over her now was the agonizing shame of guilt, the shame of utter
self-scorn, self-loathing. She--a wife, a mother!--cared for a man not
her husband; cared for him in a way that made it torment to her to
think of his marrying another woman. Hideous and unbelievable though
it was, she cared for him so much. She had cared for him even while
she was declaring to Charlotte--and later, to herself--that she loved
her husband. She cared for Peter--even now, facing the truth and
admitting it, she would not use the word, love--she cared for Peter,
and she was Ted's wife, the mother of Ted's son. Not even the touch of
that little son had been powerful to blind her. She cared!--she
_cared_!

For a moment her face went down into her hands, and the hopeless grief
of unfortunate love mastered her, tore her throat with its sobs, burned
her eyes with its bitter tears. But presently her head was up again,
and with shaking fingers she was bathing her eyes, concealing as best
she could the ravages of that instant's surrender. She had no rights
in this thing; she had not even the right to suffer. Ted or Eric might
come in at any moment, and they must not see that she had wept; she was
theirs.

She had no right to suffer. There could be only one right course in
this; to fight, to crush out of herself what she was not free to feel,
to put between herself and Peter some barrier that could not be
destroyed. There was Ted, there was Eric--they should have been
barriers enough. But they had not been barriers enough, and there must
be another. There must be something--some one--more, to keep her safe,
to hold her heart, her thoughts, from this forbidden haven. There must
be something--some one--else--. And then her mind leaped to Charlotte.
Charlotte loved Peter; she had practically admitted that. Well, she
should marry him--as she'd said that she might do. Though it broke her
own heart, Charlotte should marry Peter. She herself would arrange it.

She did not pause to consi