She could not account for herself. Donald
Keith seemed to have cast a spell over her--an
evil spell. Her throat gave her more and more
trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had vanished.
She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied
that her looks were going--not so that others would
note it, but in the subtle ways that give the first alarm
to a woman who has beauty worth taking care of and
thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. Brindley
was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert
uneasiness in Stanley. Her foundations, such as they
were, seemed tottering and ready to disintegrate. She
saw her own past with clear vision for the first time--
saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed
there was no hope for her. She made desperate
efforts to stop thinking about past and future, to absorb
herself in present comfort and luxury and opportunities
for enjoyment. But Keith was always there--and
to see him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She
was curt, almost rude to him--had some vague idea of
forcing him to stay away.
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