CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She stood on the front steps long after he was out of sight, lost in a painful reverie. The rain was still falling steadily and violently, without wind, from a pale gray sky. She watched it, absently, churning the gravel walk, splashing up again from the puddles. What a desolate and tremendous world that morning!
Eddie was really gone. She had said good-by to that generous and loyal friend, had pressed his hand and tried to smile brightly after him. He hadn’t wanted her to go to the railway-station with him.
"No," he had said. "Let’s say good-by here, in the place that’s going to be our home."
He was in a bad state. He did all he knew to conceal it, but it was none the less apparent to her that he was deeply troubled by the thought of what lay before him, that he was most reluctant to go, unhappy, alarmed, and a little puzzled. He was ashamed of all this, he wished to be a man, like Vincent, and he naïvely believed that a true man was practically devoid of any emotion, except love and anger.
Nevertheless, disturbed as he was, he didn’t for a moment neglect his beloved Angelica’s interests. He wished to know how she was to get on.
"I’ll find another job," she said.
He didn’t object; he really considered that it would be best for her to remain sturdily independent, under no obligation to him.
"I’ve made a will," he said hurriedly, "so that if I don’t come back, you’ll be all right. In the mean time, if you do need anything, here’s my lawyer’s address. I’ve told him to give you anything you ask for without question."
Mrs. Russell, too, had gone. She had felt so upset by Eddie’s departure and Polly’s cruel behaviour that she was obliged to take a ten-day motor-trip with the doctor and Courtland. She hadn’t remembered to bid Angelica good-by.