By the next morning my mind had cleared somewhat, and I rose full of eagerness and interest for what was to come. I looked forward to it, now, as to a play where I myself was to go upon the stage and act a part. I got down-stairs early, to be ready upon the scene.
The day was fine, and I stepped outside, first, to pay a visit to the dogs, who scrambled over me in an ecstasy of delight, crouched, leaped, ran off and returned, exuberant with life and affection. King was outside, watering a patch of flowers, and grinned a welcome. I took a turn down the lane, reveling in the sweet-scented morning air laden with the perfume of the hundreds of rose-bushes in front of the house, and then back, quite tuned up for any emergency.
Leah had not yet appeared, so I went into the music-room which opened from the hall, opposite the library. Here further evidence of Miss Fielding's taste was evident, though, except perhaps for my own chamber, it was the most formal room in the house, with as fine a collection of Chippendale, Sheraton and Heppelwhite furniture as I have ever seen, and a ceiling plainly a replica of Adam's. The room, in fact, was almost like one of those chambers in show palaces whose entrances are roped off with crimson cords. I felt that I oughtn't to be surprised if, on approaching the harpsichord in the corner, I found upon it a printed card with the legend: "Défense de toucher."
While I was looking about, I heard Leah's footsteps hurrying down the stairs. I turned and waited for her, and my glance must have spoken as plainly as any words, for as soon as she saw me she said:
"It's 'the other one,' Mr. Castle. She's up, now. She's telephoning to the doctor."
"How is she?" I asked.
"She's fresh and well enough, but she's in a bad temper. I had an unpleasant scene with her. She wanted to know why I was here, and I told her what you said—that you had met me and asked me to come back with you. Then she quieted down a little, and asked me when you came and how long you were going to stay. She seemed to be glad that you were here, and it pacified her, but I'm awfully afraid that she'll send me away again!"
"Don't lose courage," I said. "If she's glad to see me, that's a good sign, and it will make it easier for me. But we mustn't seem to be plotting here together. It won't do to arouse her suspicions, whatever we do. You leave it to me, and cheer up!"
With that, I walked into the library and waited. It was not long before I heard Miss Fielding's door open and heard her whistling as she came rollicking down the stairs.
These noises, so thoroughly dissociated from my idea of Joy herself, created unconsciously a mental impression; an expectation that, without thinking of the absurdity of it, quite unprepared me for the sight of her when she appeared. I don't quite know what I did expect—something a bit unfamiliar, unnatural, I suppose—but what I saw was, of course, only the Miss Fielding I had always seen, pretty, slender, exquisite, the same brown-eyed, dark-haired creature as ever, at first glance the same woman whom I had left the night before, only now refreshed and full of life. It gave me a distinct shock. At second glance, it is true, there were almost undefinable, yet perfectly distinguishing marks of the new personality—of Edna; and as I noted them—the carelessness of her hair, her dilated pupils, the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt-waist, the odor of Santal, and above all a refreshing youthfulness—I adjusted myself quickly to the situation.