Afterwards, memory would always have her scarred and bitter place at the back of things.
Sara found no hardship now in receiving the congratulations of her friends--and they fell about her like rain--while in the long, intimate talks she had with Garth the fact that he would never speak of the past weighed with her not at all.

She guessed that long ago he had been guilty of some mad, boyish escapade which, with his exaggerated sense of honour and the delicate idealism that she had learned to know as an intrinsic part of his temperamental make-up, he had magnified into a cardinal sin.

And she was content to leave it at that and to accept the present, gathering up with both hands the happiness it held.
She had written to Elisabeth, telling her of her engagement, and, to her surprise, had received the most charming and friendly letter in return.
"Of course," wrote Elisabeth in her impulsive, flowing hand with its heavy dashes and fly-away dots, "we cannot but wish that it had been otherwise--that you could have learned to care for Tim--but you know better than any one of us where your happiness lies, and you are right to take it.

And never think, Sara, that this is going to make any difference to our friendship.

I could read between the lines of your letter that you had some such foolish thought in your mind.