All the month that he had been in and out of the house, all through those long delightful talks she had had with him, through which he had patiently listened,—had not the keynote been the same with her outpourings—always Herself? For the first time she saw it with clearness.
What must Ned think?
"Oh, how could I?" she mentally cried, in extreme disgust. "How could I do it? But I must stop! I must change! I can't let myself go on so. I didn't know before how it looked to other people—how poor and mean and horrid!" She might have added—"Or, how it looked in the sight of God!" At this moment the thought of Ned's opinion blotted out all else.
"What on earth are you mooning about?" Patricia enquired. "I've asked you a question three times and had no answer."
"I'm sorry. What was it?"
Patricia declined to repeat her question a fourth time; and Magda found that she had to move, or she would be late for luncheon. When she was gone, Patricia took up the note that she had written to Rob, and stood weighing it in her hand with an air of consideration.
"Shall I send it? Yes, I think so. Why not? Rob needs to be brought to his bearings."
She dropped it into the letter-box in the hall, then mounted the stairs, singing as she went, picturing herself as the Queen of Beauty, and wondering which of the three costumes would be the most entrancing.
Half-an-hour later a qualm assailed her. What if her words should fail to "bring Rob to his bearings"? What if he did not yield? Then—she had said to him—they had better part. Did she really wish this?
She ran downstairs again, with a half intention to take her letter back, and at least to have a few hours for consideration.