She closed the magazine.
"Perhaps he will go, after all," she said. "He may see that it is best. He may be glad to go before the year is ended."
She left her book and her chair.
"I think I must go now," she said, "I am a little tired."
He thought that she looked so, and the shadow which for a moment had half lifted itself fell again.
"No," he thought, "she has not outlived it, and this is more bitter for her than the rest. It is only natural that it should be more bitter."
When he got up to bid her good-night she put a hand upon either of his shoulders and kissed him.
"I am glad I was not invited to the grand party, dear," she said, "I have liked this better. It has been far better for me."
There were only a few yards of space between her father's house and her own, and in a few seconds she had ascended the steps and entered the door. As she did so she heard Richard in the parlor, speaking rapidly and vehemently, and, entering, found that he was talking to Colonel Tredennis. The colonel was standing at one end of the room, as if he had turned around with an abrupt movement; Richard was lying full length upon a sofa, looking uneasy and excited, his cushions tumbled about him. They ceased speaking the moment they saw her, and there was an odd pause, noticing which she came forward and spoke with an effort at appearing at ease.
"Do you know that this seems like contention?" she said. "Are you quarrelling with Richard, Colonel Tredennis, or is he quarrelling with you? And why are you not at the reception?"