II
When she came down to breakfast she felt that she could not endure another day of this place. She wished now for no revenge upon Rachel, she had no longer any curiosity as to the particular feelings of any one of these people for any other ... she felt detached from them all, and utterly, absolutely weary.
She was weighed down with a sense of disaster and she felt that she must, instantly, escape from it all, fling herself again into her London work, deal with the tiresome commonplaces of her mother and sister—she must escape.
Roddy was sitting alone at breakfast and she saw at once that he was uneasy. He seemed to avoid her eyes and he coloured as she came towards him.
"Mornin', Miss Rand," he said, "Rachel's not comin' down. Bit of headache—rotten night."
"I didn't have a very good night either. That storm made me sleep badly."
"Yes, wasn't it a corker? It's all right to-day though."
She looked through the wide high windows and saw out over a country painted as in a delicate water-colour—The softest green and dark brown lay beneath a pale blue sky, very still, very gentle. Tiny white puffs of cloud were blown, like soap bubbles across the sun, so that bright gleams floated and passed and flashed again.
She drew a deep breath—"Nothing terrifying in such a day as this."
"Yes, it's beautiful—beautiful! I'm off for the day," Roddy said, "ridin'——"