"Yes." Her voice was expressionless.
He bent over and just touched his lips to the back of her neck at the edge
of her hair. He thought that she trembled slightly, but her face was set
and she did not look toward him. He turned and left her. Half an hour later
she heard the bell ring--it was Mrs. Carnarvon. She wished to see no one,
so she fled through the rear door of the reception room and up the great
stairway to lock herself in her boudoir. She sank slowly upon the lounge in
front of the fire and closed her eyes. The fire died out and the room grew
cold. A warning chilliness made her rise to get ready for bed.
"No," she said aloud. "It isn't ambition and it isn't lack of love. It's a
queer sort of cowardice; but it's cowardice for all that. He's a coward or
he wouldn't have given up. But--I wonder--how am I going to live without
him? I need him--more than he needs me, I'm afraid."
She was standing before her dressing table. On it was a picture of
Danvers--handsome, self-satisfied, healthy, unintellectual. She looked at
it, gave a little shiver, and with the end of her comb toppled it over upon
its face.
XIII.
RECKONING WITH DANVERS.
On that journey south Marian for the first time studied Danvers as a
husband in prospect.
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