Again Maud felt stifled and choking.
“One is a creature of moods,” she said, “and the heavy moods come, as well as the light. Just now I have a heavy mood. By the way, I shall follow your advice. I am rather overdone, and I shall leave London for a time. I shall not say I am reading ‘Sordello.’ I think I shall say I am reading the Bible—it is the better book. I shall go before the end of the week: at present I am going now. Give my adieux to your wife. She is more charming than ever!”
But at this moment May came in, and Maud gave her adieux in person. Tom was vaguely puzzled.
“It’s very sudden,” he said. “Are you going really?”
“Certainly,” said Maud; “I really am going—I am going away for a whole fortnight. I want tone, and there is no such thing in London.”
“I am inclined to agree with you,” he said.
“Well, good-bye,” said Maud; “good-bye, May—that fascinating child is quite too fascinating.”
May sat still a moment after she had gone. “What is the matter with her?” she asked; “what have you been saying, Tom? I never saw her like that.”
“Nor have I,” said he. “I have said nothing. I have no idea what is the matter with her.”