This was the first time Stella heard of Langdale's intention to go to the East; and as she listened, her face was suddenly suffused with colour.
The rest of the afternoon passed as if enveloped in a mist. Mrs. Farningham made Stella lie down, and placed a screen round the couch, trusting she might fall asleep. But she could not rest. She went into her bedroom. Dustiefoot followed her and tried to win her attention. But she did not notice him. She stood before a wide, full-length mirror that was in the room, and looked at her own face in it steadily, till she caught a frightened, cowering look in the eyes which made her shrink and draw back. The unsteady, fiery light in them made her turn deathly pale.... She threw herself into an arm-chair and covered her face with her hands. Then the silence became intolerable to her, and she said something aloud—she hardly knew what. The tone must have been strange, for the dog shrank away, looking at her timidly.
'Oh, Dustiefoot, Dustiefoot!—do not be afraid! .... O my God! why is he afraid of me? .... I must go to Anselm—I must see him .... he will know what I should do—he will speak to me....'
Then she broke into bitter weeping—leaning her head on a table near her—with low long sobs like a child who is too spent to weep aloud.
On this Dustiefoot came up and put his head on her lap; then he licked her hands; and this somehow comforted her a little.
'Good dog, good dog!' she said, patting him on the head.
The tears relieved her. After a little she returned to her friends.
'Have you two decided how long you are to be in England?' asked Farningham, after some desultory chit-chat.
'I fear Mrs. Ritchie has not yet made up her mind to come with me,' answered Mrs. Farningham.
'You had better go, Stella,' said Ted.