"I don't quite understand why I yielded." And I
turned to go.
"Wait--please," came from her abruptly.
Another long silence. Then I: "If she comes here, I think the only person
who can properly receive her is you."
"No--you must see her," said Anita at last. And she turned round in her
chair until she was facing me. Her expression--I can not describe it. I can
only say that it gave me a sense of impending calamity.
"I'd rather not--much rather not," said I.
"I particularly wish you to see her," she replied, and she turned back to
her writing. I saw her pen poised as if she were about to begin; but she
did not begin--and I felt that she would not. With my mind shadowed with
vague dread, I left that mysterious stillness, and went back to the
library.
It was not long before Mrs. Langdon was announced. There are some women
to whom a haggard look is becoming; she is one of them. She was much
thinner than when I last saw her; instead of her former restless, petulant,
suspicious expression, she now looked tragically sad. "May I trouble you to
close the door?" said she, when the servant had withdrawn.
I closed the door.
"I've come," she began, without seating herself, "to make you as unhappy, I
fear, as I am.
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