She saw that he
was searching for something--for the flaw implied in
the adverse verdict of the son of Lucia Rivi. She was
enormously relieved when he gave over the search without
having found the flaw. She felt that Donald
Keith's verdict had been proved false or at least faulty.
Yet she was not wholly reassured, and from time to time
she suspected that Jennings had not been, either.
Soon the gayety of the preceding winter and spring
was in full swing again. Keith did not return, did not
write, and Cyrilla Brindley inquired and telephoned in
vain. Mildred worked with enthusiasm, with hope,
presently with confidence. She hoped every day that Keith
would come; she would make him listen to her, force him
to admit. She caught a slight cold, neglected it, tried
to sing it away. Her voice left her abruptly. She
went to Jennings as usual the day she found herself
able to do nothing more musical than squeak. She told
him her plight. Said he:
``Begin! Let's hear.''
She made a few dismal attempts, stopped short, and,
half laughing, half ashamed, faced him for the lecture
she knew would be forthcoming.
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