"God is good.

And I believe in you, Stephen.

I will be yours some time: we cannot help it, if we would: but not as you are." "You do not love me ?" he said, flinging her off, his face whitening.
She said nothing, gathered her damp shawl around her, and turned to go.
Just a moment they stood, looking at each other.

If the dark square figure standing there had been an iron fate trampling her young life down into hopeless wretchedness, she forgot it now.

Women like Margret are apt to forget.