"It is not a matter upon which I have permitted myself
a definite opinion," he said, more coldly than he intended,
"but for your own sake I should advise it."
For her own sake! The room seemed full of the echo of
his words. A blank look crossed the girl's face; she
turned instinctively away from him and picked up her hat.
She put it on and buttoned her gloves without the faintest
knowledge of what she was doing; her senses were wholly
occupied with the comprehension of the collapse that had
taken place within her. It was the single moment of her
life when she differed, in any important way, from the
girl Kendal had painted. Her self-consciousness was a
wreck, she no longer controlled it; it tossed at the
mercy of her emotion. Her face was very white and painfully
empty, her eyes wandered uncertainly around the room,
unwilling above all things to meet Kendal's again. She
had forgotten about the portrait.
"I will go, then," she said simply, without looking at
him, and this time, with a flash, Kendal comprehended
again. He held the door open for her mutely, with the
keenest pang his pleasant life had ever brought him, and
she passed out and down the dingy stairs.
On the first landing she paused and turned.
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