“No, we dare not,” she said, dreamily. “You are right. The ghosts that wave us back are waving us not from, but to destruction. But—even if it were not so, I’m afraid I’d say, ‘Evil, be thou my good’.”
“It is true—true of me also.”
At the entrance to her house they parted, their eyes bright with visions of the future. As she went up in the elevator, her head began to ache as if she were coming from the delirium of an opium dream.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A “BETTER SELF.”
EMILY went directly to her room. “Tell Miss Gresham not to wait,” she said to the maid, “and please save only a very little for me.” She slept two hours and awoke free from the headache, but low-spirited. Joan came into the dining-room to keep her company while she tried to eat, then they sat in the library-drawing-room before the fire. For the first time in years Emily felt that she needed advice, or, at least, needed to state her case aloud in hope of seeing it more clearly.
“You are not well this evening,” Joan said presently. “Shall I read to you?”
“No, let us talk. Or, rather, please encourage me to talk about myself. I want to tell you something, and I don’t know how to begin.”
“Don’t begin. I’m sure you’ll regret it. Whenever I feel the confidential mood coming, I always put it off till to-morrow.”
“Yes—but—there are times——”
“Do you wish me to approve something you’ve decided to do, or to dissuade you from doing something you would not do anyhow? It’s always one or the other.”