She dragged down the blind sharply, to shut out the sight of the road, then made up her mind at least to lie down and strive to sleep. But early risers were already abroad before her eyelids even closed, and she seemed scarcely to have lost consciousness before Philia aroused her.
The old woman had not been as blind to the girl's troubled state as Evarne supposed. Far from sleeping complacently all night, she had lain awake long, listening to the gentle footsteps in the house, grieving over the sorrow that had so evidently descended upon the one who was dearest to her of all the world. Thus her voice was quite apologetic as she called out—
"I'm sorry to wake yer, my pet, but I've let yer sleep as long as ever is possible if you're goin' to be at that studio by nine. It's jist on eight o'clock already."
"I'll get up at once," Evarne answered, and she went so far towards carrying out her good intention as to immediately sit up in bed. But as the memory of the events of the previous day came upon her, she promptly sank down again with a renewal of despair.
But although lamentation and fear were permissible in the night hours, with the morning must come a renewal of courage and energy—so she told herself, at least; and with the determination of acting up to this resolution, sprang lightly out of bed, and, crossing the room, drew up the blind.
But either the energy of her uprising after such a night, or the sudden blaze of morning light, rendered her suddenly dizzy. She shut her eyes and leant for a moment on the dressing table. When she opened them again the first thing she saw was her own reflection in the mirror. She surveyed it with stern disapproval. What a sight she was, with pale cheeks and those blue circles under the eyes! She looked every whit as ugly as she felt—dazed and sleepy and silly. Suddenly she made up her mind to stay at home. There was no real need to call upon her resources until the evening brought the interview with Morris. She would avoid the unnecessary effort of concealing her distress and anxiety from Geoff.
She went out on to the landing, and, leaning over the banisters, called for Philia. The old woman opened the door of the kitchen, from whence issued the hissing sound of frying.
"Bring me up a cup of tea—nice and strong. I don't want anything to eat. I'm not going to the studio this morning."
Then returning to her room, she sat down and wrote to Geoff.
"Dearest of all,
"Will you mind very much if I don't come to-day? I have had such a restless night, it has made me look so ugly I don't want you to see me. There's vanity! Really, I do feel quite unwell—not actually ill, you know, but not up to posing. I feel sure I should only break more precious vases, so I had better not come, though it is hard not to see you for a whole day, my Geoff.
"Your lazy
"Evarne."