Gail nodded her numb acceptance of the apology, and turning, hurried out of the side door to the veranda. Her knees were trembling, but the fresh, cold air steadied her, and she walked the full length of the wide porch, trying instinctively to forget the sickening humiliation. As she came to the corner of the house, the sharp winter wind tore at her, smote her throat, clutched at her bare shoulders, and stopped her with a sharp physical command. She drew her gauzy little dancing scarf around her, and held it tightly knotted at her throat, and edged closer to the house. She was near a window, and, advancing a step, she looked in. It was the library, and Allison sat there, so clean and wholesome looking, with his pink shaven face and his white evening waistcoat, and his dark hair beginning to sprinkle with grey at the temples. He was so sturdy and so strong and so dependable looking, as he sat earnestly talking with Babbitt. Allison said something, and they both smiled; then Babbitt said something and they both threw back their heads and laughed, while Allison, with one hand in his pocket, waved his other hand over a memorandum pad which lay between them. Gail hurried to the front door and rang the bell.
“Hello, Gail,” greeted the cheery voice of Allison, as she came in. “My dance next, isn’t it?”
His voice was so good, so comforting, so reassuring.
“I think so,” she replied, standing hesitantly in the doorway, and thankful that the lights were canopied in this room.
Allison drew the memorandum pad toward him, and rose.
She was glad to be alone, to rescue herself from the whirl of anger and indignation and humiliation which had swept around her
“By the way, there’s one thing I forgot to tell you, Babbitt, and it’s rather important.” He hesitated and glanced toward the door. “You’ll excuse me just half a minute, won’t you, Gail?”
She had noticed that assumption of intimate understanding in him before, and she had secretly admired it. Now it was a comfort and a joy.
“Surely,” she granted, and passed on in to the library alcove, a sheltered nook where she was glad to be alone, to rescue herself from the whirl of anger, and indignation, and humiliation—above all, humiliation!—which had swept around her. What had she done to bring this despicable experience upon herself? What evil thing had there been in her to summons forth this ugly spectre? She had groped almost deliberately for that other polarity which should complete her, but this painful moment was not one of the things for which she had sought. She could not know, but she had passed one of the inevitable milestones. The very crystallisation which had brightened and whetted her to a keen zest in her natural destiny, had attracted this fellow, inevitably. Her face was hot and cold by turns, and she was almost on the point of crying, in spite of her constantly reiterated self-admonishment that she must control herself here, when Allison came to the door of the alcove.