She must rely only on Lorraine and Dick, and try to stand by her previous determination. She would see Lorraine directly she left the office the next day, and in the meantime she would try and hide from Dudley the extent of her dismay.
But in spite of her resolve, when she rested her head on the pillow, the hot tears squeezed through her closed eyelids, and in dumb misery she told herself Dudley was lost to her for ever.
She awoke the next morning with a dull, aching sense of misery that had robbed the sunshine of its warmth, and the day of its brightness; but as she dressed she strengthened herself in a resolve to try and hide her chagrin, and make some amends to Dudley for her reception of the news.
“I suppose you felt pretty disgusted with me last night,” she said at the breakfast-table. “I’m sorry, but you took me so violently by surprise.”
He had taken his seat, looking grave and displeased, but his face relaxed as he replied:
“I’m afraid I was rather sudden. It seemed the easiest”—he hesitated, then added—“I hope you’ll try to get on with Doris.”
“Of course.” Hal turned away on some slight pretext. “I’d hate giving you up to any one—you know I would—we’ve—we’ve—been very happy together here, and—” but her voice broke suddenly.
Dudley looked unhappy, but he steadied his voice and said cheerfully:
“Well, it needn’t be very different. If you and Doris will get fond of each other, it will be the same, only better. Of course you will live with us.”
“Oh no”; and she tried to smile lightly—“I couldn’t—possibly live without Mrs. Carr now. I should never be properly dressed, for one thing, and I should always be forgetting important engagements.” She changed the subject quickly, seeing he was about to remonstrate. “Have you seen Ethel and Basil since—since—”