"The day after to-morrow?"
"Yes—something has happened to make him change his mind, I suppose. He's going, anyway."
Marie's heart felt like a stone, though every nerve in her body was throbbing and burning at fever point.
Feathers was going! After to-morrow she would not be able to get to him, no matter how passionately she longed to do so.
This man whose arms were about her now cared nothing for her. He had lied to her, and pretended and deceived her. She felt that she hated him.
"What's the matter, Marie Celeste?" Chris asked, abruptly. "Aren't you well? You look so white."
"Do I? It's nothing; I'm quite well." She moved past him, and he made no effort to stop her, but she knew that his eyes were following her as she went upstairs.
What did she mean to do? She did not know. Possible and impossible plans flitted through her mind. First she thought she would tell Chris that she had found out about Dorothy—then that she would not tell him, would not stoop to let him think she cared.
Did she care? She did not know. Her whole being was in the throes of some new, strange passion.
Perhaps even up in Scotland he had made love to Dorothy, and that was why he had stayed so long. Perhaps he had known that she was coming to London, and had even asked her to the house! Marie hid her face.