Mims had once praised her for her inveterate habit of doing her duty. Easy enough had duty been when it was a case of Pansy and Tony. Now because duty was formidable and difficult, was she to shrink from it? She covered her face with her hands, she stopped her ears against an imaginary voice. She would go back--she must go back.
But if Gerald joined in the argument, would she be able to resist?
Well she knew her mother, and she was positive that, being on such terms of confidence as she had lately established with young Rosenberg, she would tell him what she had inadvertently learned, of the true inwardness of Virginia's marriage. At the mere thought the girl writhed.
She was going back, whatever they said, whatever they did. She must and would go back, in fulfilment of her promise. Yet her mind was racked with the conflict. If she went back, if she entered the Beast's den a second time, it was final. Suppose the worst were to prove true? Suppose that nothing she could do would disarm Gaunt, that he persisted in his hate, that he took delight in thwarting her, bullying her, frightening her? How vilely so ever he used her, _still she would have to be his wife._ He would shut her up in captivity, keep her from those she loved--and yet she would have to be his wife!
She remembered her own boast: "You can cut me to pieces with a knife if you choose, when I come back. Anything, if you will let me go to Pansy!"
Well, he had let her go. He had performed that, as he had performed his half of all points in the bargain between them. She, so far, had performed nothing at all. She had spent his money freely, and had lived away from him. Was her wild promise nothing but an empty boast, after all? Was she content to take these favours she had wrung from him, but to refuse to pay when pay-day came round?
All at once she knew that her mind was made up. She was going back.
She bounded out of bed, but soon found, when standing up, that she was far from fit to travel that day. She succeeded, however, in finding a writing block and a pencil, and returning to bed wrote a hasty line to Gaunt. In it she said only that she had had a tiresome chill, but that she was almost well, and intended to reach home without fail on Wednesday.