CHAPTER VI.
IF A GIRL REALLY LOVES A MAN SHE WILL MARRY HIM, EVEN THOUGH HE SHOULD WRITE A BOOK.
Phyllis meant the half hour which would elapse before her tea was brought to her to be a very grateful space.

She meant to dwell upon the achievement of her freedom, for the feeling that she was free was very sweet to her.

The fetters that had bound her had been flung away, and she now only had a splendid sense of freedom.

So sweet was this sense that she made up her mind that in future it would never do for her to run any such risk as that to which she had just subjected herself.
How could she ever have been such a fool as to promise to marry George Holland?
That was what she was asking herself as she lay back on the pillows of the French sofa, and listened to the soft sound of the carriage wheels of the callers at the other houses in the square.
What a singular wish that was of hers--to become the wife of a clergyman! It seemed very singular to her just now.

Just now she did not want to become the wife of anyone, and she hoped that no one would ask her.