Mavis of Green Hill in a New York office! I laughed aloud at the thought, and the sound of my own voice frightened me.
I couldn't cry. Somehow, I hadn't a tear left. I could only clench and unclench my hands on the lap of the little mauve gown which William Denton had bought for me—I wondered if Mrs. Goodrich knew. It had been she who had attended to all my purchases before I left Green Hill, who had gone into town with my measurements and returned with two trunks full of everything I needed, and assured me that the "bill was taken care of."
What a fool I had been!
I did not go out to tea. Sarah brought me something in my room. I told her I had a headache. It was the truth. And through my closed door I could hear Bill's voice asking for me. Mr. Crowell was there; he had ridden over some time before. I sent my regrets and stayed in my room.
At dinner I hardly spoke. I was too conscious of the clothes I wore, the food I ate. The one burdened me, the other choked me.
Bill, which was unusual, talked nervously all through the meal, about everything and nothing. Even through the dull sense of impotence and anger that possessed me, I could see that he was ill-at-ease, excited, waiting for something—waiting, perhaps, for me to reopen the last painful chapter. He could wait, I thought.
We had just been served with salad, when Fong came in, brushed Wing aside, and bent over Bill, saying something very low.
A little gleam of some inner excitement came into the steel-blue eyes. He flung down his napkin.
"Tell Juan to wait," he said, and rose.
"I beg your pardon," he said formally to me, "but I am afraid that you must eat your dinner alone. Someone has come up from the village to see me."