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But Rosalind flung her arms around her sister's neck, keeping her.

"Listen, dear. I know you're tired now. I won't be long. But if ever I was serious in my life, I am now. Janet, you've got to give it up. You've got to tell him to-morrow that you can't marry him. Never mind if they talk. Never mind if we're poor. We'll go abroad together somewhere—Mentone or somewhere—it will be after the season soon and cheap. Anything—only you've got to give it up! You can't go on with it."

Janet dragged herself from her sister's embrace.

"Rosalind, are you mad? What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. You've got to give it up, all of it. You're doing it for me, and you can't make that sacrifice. I won't let you. They are dreadful, these people—quite dreadful. You'll run away from them in a week. Why, they're awful! They haven't an idea in their heads! They're pompous and stupid and impossible. And you don't love him, not a bit. You're bored with him already, and as for that idiot his mother——"