Her mind was quite easy over the breaking up of the untoward love affair, as Arthur had written her a note earlier in the day, saying he was off on a short trip with a friend, and would wire particulars to-morrow.
On learning from Mr. Dawn that he had rejected Arthur’s suit for his daughter’s hand, she guessed readily enough that her boy had gone away to drown his sorrow. She was glad of this, believing that change of scene is a great panacea for hopeless grief.
Acting on this idea herself, she determined to make a short journey to Washington, and perhaps New York, in the hope of obliterating from her mind certain painful impressions produced, or, rather, renewed on it by the encounter with Everard Dawn at Idlewild.
The man’s face and voice haunted her and brought back memories fraught with pain. To escape them, she had fled from her home that stormy night to seek “respite and nepenthe.”
“I would not dig my past
Up from its grave of weakness and regret,
Up from its hopes that glimmered but to set,
Its dreams that did not last.”
Absorbed in painful thought, she had not observed the entrance of any one until the raised voice of the minister made her look over her shoulder in cold inquiry:
“I shall need two witnesses, please. Perhaps that lady looking out of the window would oblige us.”