No, Stanley believed
in her absolutely--believed in her career. When he
discovered the truth, he would lose interest in her, would
regard her as a poor, worthless creature, would be
eager to rid himself of her. Instead of returning to
the house, she went in the opposite direction, made a
circuit and buried herself in the woods beyond the
Shrewsbury. She was mad to get away from her own
company; but the only company she could fly to was
more depressing than the solitude and the taunt and
sneer and lash of her own thoughts. It was late in the
afternoon before she nerved herself to go home. She
hoped the others would have gone off somewhere; but
they were waiting for her, Stanley anxious and Cyrilla
Brindley irritated. Her eyes sought Keith. He was,
as usual, the indifferent spectator.
``Where have you been?'' cried Stanley.
``Making up my mind,'' said she in the tone that
forewarns of a storm.
A brief pause. She struggled in vain against an
impulse to look at Keith. When her eyes turned in
his direction he, not looking at her, moved in his listless
way toward the door.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330