"Is that the remedy?" she asked. And she shook her head slowly. "I am frightened of it."
She called to her groom, dismounted from her horse and taking Mr. Benoliel by the arm cried:
"Come in. You haven't seen my house since I bought it. You shall tell me what you think of it, now that it's finished."
She ran up the steps and turned to him at the top with a look of compunction in her face:
"I talk to you of my troubles," she said. "I have no right to--no, neither to you nor to any one. I am ashamed of myself. I have food to eat, clothes to wear, money to spend, and friends. Yes, I am very fortunate," and her mind winged back to a dark night on the estancia when she had crouched in a big chair, listening to horrors set ready for her. "I ought to be grateful," she cried with a shudder at her memories. "Come in!"
She led him through the rooms and claimed his enthusiasm for this or that rare piece of satin-wood or mahogany. It had been a great joy to her in the early days of the year to ransack the dealers' shops and grow learned of Hepplewhite and Chippendale. She told Mr. Benoliel stories of her researches, seeking to recapture some savor of that past pleasure. But her sprightliness became an effort and in her own sitting-room she turned abruptly to him:
"But I have a distaste for it all now," she said and sat down in a chair. "I have no longer any pride in the house at all."
Mr. Benoliel stood over her and nodded his head in sympathy. She was distressed. She had a look of discomfort.
"Yes, I understand that, Cynthia," he said.
She took off her hard hat. It pressed upon her temples and made her head throb.