She did not speak immediately; she was busy collecting her ideas, trying to subdue her bitter resentment against this girl who deliberately planned to wreck her son’s happiness. A betrayal of anger would, she realised, only make the estrangement more complete.
“I want to talk to you,” she said presently, breaking the silence which was becoming increasingly awkward.
Prudence looked up, and sat crumbling the bread beside her plate nervously, and waited.
“Edward has told me what happened last night,” Mrs Morgan added with fresh signs of agitation in her voice. “He is very distressed and worried. This means more to him than you realise. It is not as if he were a young man, and could face a disappointment and get over it. You cannot seriously intend to break off your engagement—now—when everything is arranged? It would be monstrous.”
She paused, and looked with pathetic eagerness to Prudence for her answer. The girl choked. She felt the tears rising to her eyes and hastily winked them away. What could she say? What was there to say in face of her determination not to marry a man with whom marriage seemed to her now intolerable? It amazed her to think that ever she could have contemplated such a step.
“I don’t know how to answer you,” she faltered. “It’s so hateful to keep hurting people. I know I’ve hurt Edward. I know you are thinking badly of me—you must be. And I can’t alter it. I can’t please you. I ought never to have accepted Edward. I don’t love him. How can I marry some one I don’t love?”
The tears fell now unchecked; she made no attempt to staunch them. But old Mrs Morgan took no heed of this display of emotion; no amount of tears could atone for such heartless conduct. She set herself to the task of overruling the girl’s decision.
“I agree with you that you ought not to have engaged yourself to my son,” she said; “but, since you are engaged to him and every one knows of the engagement, it would be most dishonourable for you to end it now. Your father will say the same. You cannot do it, Prudence.”
“But I must,” Prudence insisted.
“No.” The old lady became more emphatic. “It is unthinkable. You can’t do it. I don’t consider, myself, that you will make Edward a suitable wife; but he still wishes it; your family wish it. You cannot draw back.”