“I can’t stand it much longer,” thought Geraldine. “I’m getting nervous and irritable. I ought to go, only—”
Only she had nowhere to go—nowhere in all the world. Strangers were living in her old house. She wondered how it looked now. There used to be an air of peace about it at this hour of a summer day, when the tangled garden had grown dim, and the old house full of shadows. She and her mother used to sit by the open window, in the dusk, not talking very much, but so happy! Even old Norah in the kitchen was blessed by that peace, and would croon contentedly as she moved about. All gone now!
Geraldine had been a young girl then, like a child in the safe shelter of her[Pg 302] mother’s love—only a little while ago; but she would not think of that. She would not shed a single tear. Her mother had been so brave, even when her father was ruined and heartbroken by his failure in business—for that was the “something dreadful” that had happened to him. Even when he died, her mother had been so brave, and always so quiet. That was the right way, and the way that Geraldine would follow. If her forlorn young heart grew faint in her exile, she would look back, just for a glance, would remember, just for an instant, and would be comforted and strengthened.
She put on her black dress, gave an indifferent glance in the mirror, and opened the door; and there in the hall was Sambo, waiting for her.
“Look here!” he said. “I want to know—I’ve simply got to know—what’s the matter!”
“Nothing,” she replied.
She tried to pass, but he barred the way.
“No!” he said. “I’m going away to-morrow morning, and I’ve got to know. Have I offended you, or done anything you don’t like? The first time I saw you, yesterday afternoon—what has made you change?”
She did not answer, but her averted face was eloquent enough.
“Look here!” he said. “If I thought it was simply that you disliked me—” He paused for a moment. “But I don’t think that,” he went on. “You did like me, at first. I’ve been thinking—Is it on account of Ser—of Mrs. Page?”