Chapter XXIX: Columbine at Dawn
COLUMBINE, leaden-eyed, sat up in the strange room, where over an unfamiliar chair lay huddled all her clothes. Through the luminous white fog of dawn a silver sun, breasting the house-tops, gleamed very large. Wan with a thousand meditations, seeming frail as the mist of St. Valentine's morning, suddenly she flung herself deep into the pillow and, buried thus, lay motionless like a marionette whose wire has snapped.
Chapter XXX: Lugete, O Veneres
THE silver dawn was softened to a mother-of-pearl morning that seemed less primal than autumnal. When Danby came into the sitting-room, he found Jenny, fully dressed for departure, crouched over the ashes of last night's fire. He had a pinched, unwholesome look so early in the day, and was peevish because Jenny's presence kept him from summoning the housekeeper to bring up breakfast.
"We must get something to eat," he said.
"I don't want anything," said Jenny.
"Why not?"
"I've got a headache."
Danby tried to appear sympathetic; but his hands so early were cold as fish, and his touch made Jenny shrink.