"It isn't a bit of use. I don't honestly believe any of these things are
the real reason I'm going to marry him. I honestly believe I want to, so
what's the good of lying to myself about it? But--oh what an idiot I am!
It seems to me--there's something a bit degrading--in marrying a man
like Louis--simply because--because--you _want_ to."
She walked round and round the big eucalyptus as though she were in a
cage. Then she came back and stood against the wall again, watching the
sailors on the man-of-war with unseeing eyes. She felt hot and flushed
and a little ashamed of herself. She felt that there was something
rather disgraceful in wishing Louis were there to kiss her; something a
little humiliating in longing so utterly that to-morrow might come when
they could be together.
"I never, never, never thought I'd be such an idiot! I thought I'd fall
in love with a king, or something--Oh my goodness, what a mess!" Her
father came into her mind, striding giant-like over Ben Grief in his
shabby old tweeds; she frowned and bit her lips and told herself, in
bewilderment, that if only Louis had been like him she would have
married him without any feeling of humiliation. And she had the
uncomfortable feeling that, had her father been alive, she would never
have dared to marry Louis. Andrew would have put him in the sea, or
something equally final and ignominious.
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