"I'm going back to Windrift to-morrow," he said, still sullen, but with the note of the quarrel-seeker gone from his voice.
"When do you wish me to write to her?"
"Whenever you like," he said. The defiance in his tone was for Adelaide.
"The engagement is to be announced as soon as I get back."
Mrs. Whitney was called away, and Ross tried to write to Theresa. But the words wouldn't come. He wandered restlessly about the room, ordered the electric, went to the Country Club. After an hour of bitterness, he called up his mother. "You needn't send that note we were talking about just yet," he said.
"But I've already sent it," his mother answered. In fact, the note was just then lying on the table at her elbow.
"What were you in such a devil of a hurry for?" he stormed—an unnecessary question, for he knew his mother was the sort of person that loses no time in settling an important matter beyond possibility of change.
"I'm sorry, Ross," she replied soothingly. "I thought I might as well send it, as you had told me everything was settled."
"Oh—all right—no matter." He could break with Theresa whenever he wished. Perhaps he would not wish to break with her; perhaps, after a few days he would find that his feeling for Adelaide was in reality no stronger than he had thought it at Windrift, when Theresa was tempting him with her huge fortune. There was plenty of time before it would be necessary to make final choice.
Nevertheless, he did not leave Saint X, but hung round, sour and morose, hoping for some sign from "tamed" Adelaide.
* * * * *