“You will, after what you have admitted!” Lady Marjorie was genuinely astonished now. “Yes, I will. I must! What would he think of me if I jilted him now, after three years? What would his friends say? Would they not have reason to condemn me? Oh, I couldn’t do it. I should never be able to hold up my head again.” It was a difficult predicament. Lady Marjorie acknowledged that, from David Salmon’s point of view, Celia’s conduct would be looked upon as reprehensible; but, on the other hand, she did not consider that the girl was justified in making an unhappy marriage for the sake of saving some immediate unpleasantness. Secretly she thought that he was not worth the sacrifice; she had never been very favourably impressed with him from the first. “I am sure it will be better for you to tell Mr. Salmon the truth now, before the irrevocable step has been taken,” she said, after a pause. “It will be unpleasant, I admit, especially if he is reluctant to release you from your promise; but it will blow over after a little while, and at least you will be free. Just think what a loveless marriage means: an uncongenial husband, an unhappy home. And, perhaps, when it is too late, you may come across a man whom you could really love. How would you feel then? Dear child, do consider well before you lay up for yourself a store of unhappiness which will last until your life’s end.” But Celia’s determination remained unshaken. She would be true to her promise, and she would try not to be unhappy over it either. It seemed to her that the majority of Jewish alliances were marriages of convenience, contracted without much thought of love, yet the consequences were, as a rule, quite satisfactory. Adeline, for instance, had admitted to her in confidence that when she married Mike Rosen she had not cared for him in the least, but love had come in time; and now they were devoted to each other, and to their baby boy. If Celia did not exactly love David Salmon, she possessed no feelings of animosity towards him; and, being a sensible girl, she would do her best to make him a good and dutiful wife. She felt relieved when she had thus settled the matter in her mind; but her tranquillity was again disturbed when the midday post brought her a letter which had been forwarded from Durlston, bearing the Sydney postmark. Lady Marjorie, catching sight of the stamp, and Celia’s sudden blush, drew her own conclusions. “You had forgotten him, girlie, hadn’t you?” she queried softly. Celia slit the envelope. “No,” she replied; “but I thought he had forgotten me.”