And the next day, still angry with her. Ah, the puzzled desolation of those weeks before she had salved her hurt; with pride, and then with love! Those days of misery before she could convince herself that she had been in love with love, not with her fleeing lover! Hardin was there, eager to be noticed. That affair, she could see now, had lacked finesse.
Rickard had certainly loved her, or why had he never married? Why had he left so abruptly his boarding-house, in mid-term? Doesn’t jealousy confess love? Some day, he would tell her; what a hideous mistake hers had been! She ought not to have rushed into that marriage. She knew now it had always been the other. But life was not finished, yet!
The date set for her summer “widowhood” had come, but she lingered. Various reasons, splendid and sacrificial, were given out. There was much to be done.
“I wish she would be definite,” Innes’ thoughts complained. She was restless to make her own plans. It had not yet occurred to her that Gerty would stay in all summer. For she never had so martyrized herself. “Some one must be with Tom. It may spoil my trip. But Gerty never thinks of that.” She believed it to be a simple matter of clothes. It always took her weeks to get ready to go anywhere.
“But I won’t wait any longer than next week. If she does not go then, I will. Absurd for us both to be here.” It was already fiercely hot.
Gerty, meanwhile, had been wondering how she could suggest to her sister-in-law that her trip be taken first. Without arousing suspicions! Terribly loud in her ears sounded her thoughts those days.
Her husband flung a letter on the table one evening. “A letter to you from—Casey.”
She tried to make the fingers that closed over the letter move casually. She could feel them tremble. What would she say if Tom asked to see it?
It was addressed to her in her husband’s care. Hardin had found it at the office in his mail. And she going each day to the post-office to prevent it from falling into his hands! She gave it a quick offhand glance.
“About the drive, of course. Supper’s getting cold. Look at that omelet. Don’t wait to wash up. It will be like leather.”