She got up and went irresolutely to the door. What was she to do with herself to forget, to overcome her terrible emotion? She knew she needn’t expect to see either Mrs. Russell or the doctor before lunch-time on Sunday, and it was now only ten o’clock. She didn’t know what to do; she wanted only to be active and to be for a little time alone.
She was not at all fond of walking as a pastime, but she set out resolutely enough now, along the quiet country road, trying to fix her thoughts upon Sillon and Devery and all that frank and bright existence, and to forget this world, this house with its intolerable memories, this man, whose very existence was an outrage to her.
"I shouldn’t have come!" she told herself. "I was a fool! I guess it can’t be done. I guess you can’t—get over a—thing like that."
And in spite of herself came the unwelcome and terrible thought:
"How will it be, then, when you are married to Eddie and living in that house and seeing Vincent every day?"
She tried to escape from it. She walked faster, farther; but the walk did her no good. There was nothing in the country landscape to divert her thoughts, nothing to interest her. She had the purposeful gait of the city dweller; she wanted to get somewhere, and she wanted to be startled into attention with fascinating shop-windows, blazing signs, things and people always passing her. The quiet, all about, made the sound of her own firm step on the macadam road annoyingly loud and regular. The bright, clear sky overhead, the leaves somberly brilliant in their glorious death, filled her with impatience and loneliness. She turned back.
And the first living creature she saw on the road was Vincent, coming to meet her.
She didn’t falter. They went on, nearer and nearer to each other, steadily, rapidly; but her heart began to beat with suffocating violence.
"Maybe he’ll try to kill me," she thought. "It’s so lonely here—and he hates me so! Well, I guess that’s the best thing that could happen to me!"
But as he drew near, he held out his hand.