Gilbert hadn’t stirred. She lay down beside him and closed her eyes, and at once anguish, like a fierce beast, sprang at her throat.
CHAPTER TWO
THE BITTER TRIUMPH
“I’M going shopping early this morning,” said Claudine, at the breakfast-table the next morning. “There are some very good bargains advertised.... How soon do you think you could send the car back, Gilbert?”
Now Gilbert, although he scoffed at feminine shopping and bargains, nevertheless respected all this as one of the bulwarks of family life. Women must and ought to go shopping. So he said:
“Take the car. I’ll go in the Subway,” in the tone of an exasperated martyr.
Her destination, however, was the Biltmore. She was filled with a feverish anxiety to get there; she was in terror lest Mr. Stephens should have gone out, that he would be beyond her reach, that Andrée might see him or hear from him before she did. She was going to the desk to enquire for him, when she caught sight of him, standing up, reading a newspaper, and she approached him and touched him on the arm.
“Mr. Stephens!” she said. “Have you a few moments to spare?”
He was not pleased to see her; she fancied that his face turned a little pale; but he greeted her with a sort of subdued courtesy.
“Where can we talk?” she asked. “I have something to say....”
“I have a little sitting-room; if you don’t mind—” he said.