Once more in her easy-chair, she could only lean back and think, with a mixture of delight and despondency. As minutes went on, the latter predominated.
If Nigel should ever know—should over guess what she had done! Fulvia felt that she could sink into the earth with shame. She could picture so well his look, could foretell what he would think and say. Suppose Mr. Carden-Cox were to recall that he had sent the postscript to Fulvia? Suppose she should be questioned. What would she say, and how might she shield herself?
"I will not speak untruths, and I will not tell!" she resolved aloud, clasping her hands. The two resolves might prove incompatible,—but she would not face that possibility.
Why had she not, when Anice was returning, dropped the half-sheet on the floor, then picked it up as a discovery and sent it straight to Nigel by Anice? This suggestion came up; Fulvia's brow was dyed anew at the idea of such deception. Yet—she almost regretted that she had not thought of it in time!
By the half-hour's end, when Daisy returned, it was as much as Fulvia could do to creep into bed. No wonder that the night following was one of feverish unrest. Daisy had little sleep, though not easily kept awake, for Fulvia rambled incessantly in a half-awake, half-unconscious style.
Strange to say, she kept sealed lips throughout as to the crumpled half-sheet locked up in her dressing-case. Once there was a passionate cry, "O Nigel, forgive me!"
And Daisy sat up in bed, staring with round eyes of astonishment. But no more followed, and Fulvia seemed to be asleep, so Daisy lay down again.
"I'm glad I told Mr. Carden-Cox, though," commented Daisy. "Somebody ought to know how she goes on, most certainly!"
[CHAPTER XIII]
"WILL NEVER MARRY HER!"