She was one of the most spinsterish spinsters in the Five Towns; and she
had often said things about men and marriage of which the recollection
now, as an affianced woman, was very disturbing to her. However, she did
not care. She did not understand how Simon Loggerheads had had the wit
to perceive that she would be an ideal wife. And she did not care. She
did not understand how, as a result of Simon Loggerheads falling in love
with her, she had fallen in love with him. And she did not care. She did
not care a fig for anything. She _was_ in love with him, and he with
her, and she was idiotically joyous, and so was he. And that was all.
On reflection, I have to admit that she did in fact care for one thing.
That one thing was the look on her brother's face when he should learn
that she, the faithful sardonic sister, having incomprehensibly become
indispensable and all in all to a bank cashier, meant to desert him. She
was afraid of that look. She trembled at the fore-vision of it.
Still, Richard had to be informed, and the world had to be informed, for
the silken dalliance between Mary and Simon had been conducted with a
discretion and a secrecy more than characteristic of their age and
dispositions.
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