Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her.
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