CHAPTER XII
SEKHET, CRUSHER OF HEARTS
One morning, weary and depressed after a wakeful night, her determination had faltered at the very moment of setting out on an expedition with Tony as sole escort. With her foot actually on the step of the carriage she had suddenly informed him, somewhat curtly, that he really must amuse himself that day, returning and shutting herself in her room, deaf to all expostulations.
Tony, decidedly chagrined, had loitered for a while in the lonely flat—teased the dog—flirted with one of the maid-servants—and had finally taken his departure.
Evarne sat on in solitude, alternately striving to read a novel and freely permitting her tortured imagination to dwell on the vision of Morris and Lucinda being whirled happily together through the fresh country lanes.
A few hours later, hearing a footstep and the sound of the opening front door, and wishing now to make peace with Tony before the others returned and troubled her with "whys" and "wherefores," she went to the drawing-room, prepared to be very sweet and amiable. But the footsteps had not been those of her host. It was the motoring couple who had returned thus early.
Lucinda, vivacious as usual, had already removed her hat and veil, and was drawing off her long gloves. She worked industriously at the fingers of one hand until she had drawn a loose end of the white kid forward over each finger-tip then suddenly called upon Morris.
"I'm impatient. I can't tear these things off. You had better come to the rescue."
Gathering up the already loose ends between his thumb and finger, Morris took hold of her other hand also, and suddenly jerked both her arms forcibly over his shoulders. As she unavoidably fell forward on his breast he encircled her waist and kissed the laughing face so near to his own.