When the meal was over she waited to give directions to the servants, as usual, speaking cheerfully to all. She could not bear the pity of her servants. Her maid, a faithful girl, came to her in her room. Could she let her go home for a while? Her mother was very ill and needed her—she hated to leave just now, and wouldn't, only—it was her mother. Yes, Margaret said hastily, feeling with a throb of loneliness that the ties of blood were to be nourished, not denied. Then when the girl was gone she felt bereft.
Through that long morning Margaret waited. The air she breathed was dead and deadening; she gasped sometimes for breath. It was the close, oppressive air that presages a storm. It seemed to press upon her so. She went once to the window, expecting, without knowing why, to see the lightning and to hear the thunder's roll, and felt vague surprise to see the leaves stirred by the breeze, and over all the sunlight. There was no storm.
She moved restlessly about her room, putting her drawers to rights with a strange feeling unformulated even to herself, but pressing hard, that she must put her house in order, for the end was near.
In the upper hall near her door was the telephone. She went once to it, took the receiver down, and then returned it to the hook, turning afterwards resolutely to it and telling herself, "He is my husband. It certainly is my right to know." Then to the one who answered, she said, brightly, "Will you please ask Mr. De Jarnette to come to the 'phone?"
She would not ask if he was there. To her excited imagination that would seem to imply that she did not know of his whereabouts.
"Is that you, Mrs. De Jarnette? Good morning, madam.... Why, ... Mr. De Jarnette hasn't come in yet. Probably somebody stopped him on the way down.... Yes.... Well, I will tell him when he comes in. Good-by."
Margaret looked at the clock. It was after eleven. She sat down faint and trembling. He had not been to the office.
Soon after this Judge Kirtley called to see her on some matter of business. He asked her casually about Victor, and she answered with a smile and a steady voice, feeling all the time that if he said another word she must go to him and fall upon his breast and cry aloud. Then—was she pretty well? Ah, that was good.... No, Mrs. Kirtley was in bed with grippe. The doctor said he should keep her there a good while.... Well, she must take good care of herself—patting her cheek—and—good-by.
When he was gone, Margaret had an insane desire to scream. It seemed to her that everybody was leaving her.... Where was Victor?