Her face was pale and strained from her sleepless night, and her hands were icy in spite of the warmth of the room. More than once she had thought of fortifying herself for this meeting with a glass of sherry. Only the possibility that he might smell it on her breath and take credit for driving her to drink kept her from it. She intended to confront him and concede that their wager was pointless. It was painfully obvious that his dislike of women was too deeply rooted to reform in a mere fortnight, no matter how wonderful her ladies were. And in light of her wretched experiences with him, she was not likely to change her opinions of men in the near future. Therefore, the only result they could reasonably expect was that the wager would end in an acrimonious draw. And where was the point in prolonging that? But even as her head told her it was the right thing to do, the rest of her felt increasingly desolate at the thought that in an hour or two he would walk out of her house and out of her life forever.
