She knelt on the damp floor, and leaned her arms on the dusty bench, regardless of panic-stricken ants and enterprising black beetles, and she shook from head to foot with sobs.
"Oh my love!" she murmured to herself. "Oh, my love!"
And then presently lifting herself up and appealing to the star-worlds far away, and the immutable universe in general:
"Oh, what shall I do? Oh, what can I do?"
By and bye she sat down on the bench, clasped her hands on her knees, and tried her best to compose herself.
The keen air made her shiver, and perhaps it did something to cool her agitation and brace her nerves as well.
Slowly she gathered her wits together, made tremulous efforts to school herself to be womanly and courageous, and at last crept back to the lighted and crowded house, hugging a brave but terrible resolution.
She went to the nearest fire to warm herself. It was in a little room adjoining the dining-room, where the last preparations for supper were going on.
As she knelt on the hearthrug, extending her white arms to the blaze, Mr. Kingston came behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders, so silently and unexpectedly that she gave a little startled cry.
"Did I frighten you, my pet?" said he, gaily; "I beg your pardon. I couldn't think where you were gone to. I am afraid you are tired. You have been waltzing too much. That fellow Dalrymple does go round at a killing pace with his long legs. Poor Miss Hale couldn't stand him at all—she nearly fainted. Ah, naughty child! Didn't I tell you not to dance with him? And you never paid the least heed! If this is how you defy me now, what am I to expect after we are married, eh?"