I answered what I thought would please her. "Let us make the best of our
bad bargain," said I. "You can trust me now, don't you think you can?"
She nodded without speaking; we were at the door, and the servants were
hastening out to receive us. Always the servants between us. Servants
indoors, servants outdoors; morning, noon and night, from waking to
sleeping, these servants to whom we are slaves. As those interrupting
servants sent us each a separate way, her to her maid, me to my valet, I
was depressed with the chill that the opportunity that has not been seen
leaves behind it as it departs.
"Well," said I to myself by way of consolation, as I was dressing for
dinner, "she is certainly softening toward you, and when she sees the new
house you will be still better friends."
* * * * *
But, when the great day came, I was not so sure. Alva went for a "private
view" with young Thornley; out of her enthusiasm she telephoned me from the
very midst of the surroundings she found "_so_ wonderful and _so_
beautiful"--thus she assured me, and her voice made it impossible to doubt.
And, the evening before the great day, I, going for a final look round,
could find no flaw serious enough to justify the sinking feeling that came
over me every time I thought of what Anita would think when she saw my
efforts to realize her dream.
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