I suddenly felt utterly alone, all the exaltation gone. For the moment I hated the two downstairs. I felt the situation equivocal, and untenable, and it had amused me so much an hour ago.
It is stupid and silly, and makes one’s nose red, but I felt like crying a little before I got into bed.
Branches,
Saturday afternoon, Nov. 5th.
This morning I woke with a headache, to see the rain beating against my windows, and mist and fog—a fitting day for the fifth of November. I would not go down to breakfast. Véronique brought me mine to my sitting-room fire, and, with Spartan determination, I packed steadily all the morning.
About twelve a note came up from Lord Robert; I paste it in:
“Dear Miss Travers,—Why are you hiding? Was I a bore last night? Do forgive me and come down. Has Christopher locked you in your room? I will murder the brute if he has!
“Yours very sincerely,
“Robert Vavasour.”