He stood like a rock under her caress; he did not make any answer; he did not attempt to undo the clasp of her arms. He was as impassive as a hunted animal who, in some terrible danger, pretends to be already dead.
It was a matter of only a few seconds. Then she dropped her arms, and he went away.
CHAPTER V
Running away is seldom a becoming gesture, yet it is one that should at least bring relief; but as Riatt went westward, he was conscious of no relief whatsoever. The day was bitter and gray, and, looking out of the window, he felt that he was about as flat and dreary as the country through which he was passing.
He sat a little while with the Lanes in their compartment.
“I suppose you’ll be glad to get home and see George and Louise and the children,” said Mrs. Lane, referring to some cousins of Riatt’s about whom, it is to be feared, he had not thought for weeks.
Dorothy laughed. “What does he care for home-staying cousins when he is leaving a lovely creature languishing for him in New York?” she said.
“I doubt if Christine does much languishing,” he returned, though the idea was not at all disagreeable to him.
“You two are the strangest lovers I ever knew,” said Miss Lane.
Riatt wondered if that were an accurate description of them—lovers, though strange ones.