Harriett was aware of a sudden tightening of her heart, of a creeping depression that weighed on her brain and worried it. She thought this was her pity for Priscilla.
Her third night. All evening Robin had been moody and morose. He would hardly speak to either Harriett or Priscilla. When Priscilla asked him to do anything for her he got up heavily, pulling himself together with a sigh, with a look of weary, irritated patience.
Prissie wheeled herself out of the study into the drawing-room, beckoning Harriett to follow. She had the air of saving Robin from Harriett, of intimating that his grumpiness was Harriett’s fault. “He doesn’t want to be bothered,” she said.
She sat up till eleven, so that Robin shouldn’t be thrown with Harriett in the last hours.
Half the night Harriett’s thoughts ran on, now in a darkness, now in thin flashes of light. “Supposing, after all, Robin wasn’t happy? Supposing he can’t stand it? Supposing.... But why is he angry with me?” Then a clear thought: “He’s angry with me because he can’t be angry with Priscilla.” And clearer. “He’s angry with me because I made him marry her.”
She stopped the running and meditated with a steady, hard deliberation. She thought of her deep, spiritual love for Robin; of Robin’s deep spiritual love for her; of his strength in shouldering his burden. It was through her renunciation that he had grown so strong, so pure, so good.
Something had gone wrong with Prissie. Robin, coming home early on Saturday afternoon, had taken Harriett for a walk. All evening and all through Sunday it was Priscilla who sulked and snapped when Harriett spoke to her.
On Monday morning she was ill, and Robin ordered her to stay in bed. Monday was Harriett’s last night. Priscilla stayed in bed till six o’clock, when she heard Robin come in; then she insisted on being dressed and carried downstairs. Harriett heard her calling to Robin, and Robin saying, “I told you you weren’t to get up till to-morrow,” and a sound like Prissie crying.
At dinner she shook and jerked and spilt things worse than ever. Robin gloomed at her. “You know you ought to be in bed. You’ll go at nine.”
“If I go, you’ll go. You’ve got a headache.”