CHAPTER XI
She looked at him in a blind sort of way. His words made only a hazy impression; but neither of the men could know that.
"Believed in me?" she echoed, smiling faintly. "Why, did you?"
"Yes," said Francis with a concentrated fury that reached even her confused senses. "But I never will again! I thought—I was beginning to think—you were the sort of woman you said. But you're just a flirt. Any man is better than the one you're married to."
"I—I think you want me to go," she said, trying to see him. She could see two Francises, as a matter of fact, neither of them clearly.
"Yes, I do. Either of these men you've befooled can see you on your way. And I'll start divorce proceedings, or you may, immediately."
He said more than that; but that was all she could get. The words hurt her, in spite of their lack of meaning. Francis hated her; he thought she was a bad girl, who never kept her word. And she wasn't.
"I—I want to be good," she said aimlessly, as she had said to
Pennington a little earlier. "I"—she lost the thread again—"I'll go."
She rose, dropping the cup and saucer on her knee, and not stopping to pick them up. She caught hold of the doorpost to carry her in, and dropped down on a seat inside. It was not that she was weak, but she felt giddy. She wondered again if it was the swamp. Probably. She finally made her way back to her own room, mixed herself some spirits of ammonia and took it, and sat down to pull herself together. Through the wooden partition she could hear the furious voices of the men on the porch outside. She wondered if Francis would say more dreadful things to her while he took her over in the side-car. She hoped not.
Presently the dizziness departed for a few minutes, and she tried to pack. She did not seem able to manage it. If she was allowed to stay at the Lodge with the O'Maras, she could send Peggy over to gather up her things. Yes, that would be the best way to do.