She had screwed up her courage to fulfil her pledge to marry Roger, and she felt that the presence in the neighbourhood of Maryon--Maryon with his familiar charm and attraction, and his former love for her intensified by losing her--might be a somewhat disturbing factor.
Looking out over the sea, she smiled to think how futile Maryon's charm would be to touch her if she were going to marry Peter Mallory.

She would have no wish even to see him.

But yesterday's scene with Roger had increased her fear and dread of her coming marriage, and she was conscious of a captive's longing for one more taste of freedom, for one more meeting with the man who had played a big part in the old Bohemian life she had loved so well.
For long she hesitated how to answer Maryon's letter, sitting there on the seaward wall, her chin cupped in her hand.

Should she write and ask him to postpone his visit?
Or reply just as though she were expecting him?
At last her decision was taken.

She tore up his letter and, strolling to the edge of the cliff, tossed the pieces into the sea.