Polly, however, had been very, very kind. She had given Angelica several little presents, which wasn’t her way, and she had spoken to her with a sincere kindliness.
"My dear girl," she had said, "this has been a wretched thing for you. I only hope it won’t really harm you. You mustn’t let it. Try to forget it. Just now, perhaps, there’s a sort of glamour—but after you’ve been gone for a while, I think you’ll see it all more clearly"—meaning Vincent all the time, of course. "If only you could find some work that you could put your heart into, Angelica—something you are suited to! What do you think you’d like?"
"Well, I guess I’m going to marry Eddie——”
"Yes," said Polly, who didn’t think that would ever come to pass. "But he may be gone for a long time; and meanwhile you’d like to show him, wouldn’t you, what you can do?"
"I guess I’d like dressmaking and millinery," said Angelica.
"Very likely I can find some sort of opening for you. I know quite a number of self-supporting girls. Keep in touch with me, be sure!"
The house was very quiet. There was nothing to distract her, and Angelica was able to meditate at her leisure. She thought first of herself and her return to her mother, of that "going back" which was so difficult to this ardent spirit always eager to go forward.
She suffered under a terrible discontent and restlessness. She was ashamed of the past, disgusted with the future. She felt that life, real life, was ended; the adventure finished, the mysterious charm lost.
Try as she would, she could not keep her mind from straying to Vincent. He was adventure and charm, life itself, for her. She told herself that she was going to forget him. He had treated her very badly, and she was done with him. She was going to marry Eddie and be done with Vincent forever.
But she knew that she could not. Wouldn’t she see forever in her dreams that big, arrogant man with his hawk-like face and his bright hair? He had hurt her, but he had made her happy, too. He had come upon her with violence. Everything about his brief love-making had been startling and disturbing. She had often hated him, but she had always loved him—always, from that moment when she had seen him standing in the doorway of Mrs. Russell’s room.