She had put the knowledge of what was going to happen from her, with a kind of hard, defiant determination.

But now she was sorry--sorry, that she had not taken her step-mother's advice, and gone away for a long week-end.

Betty Tosswill felt like a man who, having suffered intolerably from a wound which has at last healed, learns with sick apprehension that his wound is to be torn open.
Although not even Janet, her one real close friend and confidant, was aware of it, Godfrey had not been the only man in Betty's life.

There had been two men, out in France, who had loved her, and lost no time in telling her so.

One had been killed; the other still wrote to her at intervals, begging her earnestly, pathetically, to marry him, and sometimes she half thought she would.
But always Godfrey Radmore stood before the door of her heart, imperiously, almost contemptuously, "shooing off" any would-be intruder.
And yet to-day she told herself, believing what she said, that she no longer loved him.