"Why doesn't Rupert Haverford speak?" she asked herself in the same fretful way, I "simply can't go on struggling and fighting in this weary way. I was never meant to struggle and fight; and is it my fault that I make mistakes? How can I be different? I was brought up to be what I am. When other children were given twopence a week to put into a money-box, I was given a five-pound note to spend on dolls or make into kites. Of course I am extravagant! Of course I get into holes! I should be a living wonder if I didn't!"
She pushed the thick hair back from her brows, and, slipping from the chair, bunched herself on the hearth-rug, holding her hands before her face to shield it from the blaze.
"I won't believe he doesn't care," she said to herself, her thoughts reverting to Haverford again. "He does care, only he won't speak. And he makes me so nervous. I feel as if he were looking at me through a microscope. I am sure Agnes thinks he cares!" She sighed, and shut her eyes for a moment; then her mind worked into an easier groove. "I do believe Sammy was glad to see me!" was her next thought. "He wasn't a bit changed. Perhaps I am worrying myself for nothing!" Her face lightened; the lips, the eyes grew eager. As was inevitable with her, despair began to give way slowly but surely before the invulnerable optimism of her nature. She pinned up her hair, and sat gazing into the fire, humming to herself softly while her mind pieced together a dozen different possibilities, and carried her gradually but surely away from doubt and definite fear. When the clock chimed eight she sprang to her feet.
"My black gown, Dennis," she said. She had convinced herself that Rupert Haverford would like his wife to wear black and sober colours. In the same way she assured herself that he would read family prayers every morning. If she married him she determined that she would always breakfast in her room.
A little packet was lying on the dressing-table, and she opened it with a smile on her lips and pleasure in her eyes.
"Look, Dennis, what Mr. Haverford bought for the children! This is for Betty, and this for baby! Is it too late to send them to-night?... Won't they be pleased? No," she decided; "I don't think I will send them. Darling hearts, they will expect me to bring them something to-morrow. Can't you see them waiting for me, Dennis?"
"They'll be in a rare state of excitement, I expect," said the maid, with a smile.
Camilla Lancing fingered the trinkets as she sat and had her hair dressed.
"He is really kind," she said to herself.
Contrasted with the other man, he had a new and great charm for her to-night—a value he had not had before.