278 She kept telling herself that she was going back home, that Chris was coming to take her home, that she was not going away with Feathers, after all, that it had just been a sweet, impossible dream, but it all sounded like so much foolishness.
How could Chris possibly love her? How could he possibly wish to take her home after all that had happened? He would hate and despise her when he knew.
She felt so cold! Her hands were like ice, and yet her head was burning hot.
Feathers went on talking to her, and she tried to listen, tried to keep her thoughts concentrated, but they would wander away; then presently—after a long while it seemed—he lifted her to her feet, and she heard him say that Chris could not be coming now after all, that it was too late—that it was past nine o'clock.
She laughed because he seemed so distressed.
"I knew he wouldn't come," she said, but it did not seem to matter.
She let him help her into the car—the same car in which she had ridden with him happily so many times before. She wished she could feel that happiness now, but her heart felt all dead and cold.
"I knew Chris wouldn't come," she said again stupidly. "Not that it matters at all," she added, with an empty little laugh.
Nothing mattered! This second bid for happiness had failed as the first had done and she wished she could die.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, as he folded the rug round her, and he answered "Home."