Eldon had received no answer to the note he sent Sheila denying his part in the newspaper notoriety. This had rankled in his heart. Bret still believed that the note was a lie and an effort to keep a hook on Sheila. He loved Eldon less than ever.
There was a longing for battle in both the big hearts, and each would have been glad to beat the other down before the whole crowd; yet, because of the crowd, neither could strike.
Sheila guessed at once that Dulcie had planned it; the cat was overacting her rôle of surprise and regret, as her little heart thrilled to see the two men braced in scarlet confusion and Sheila fluttering between them.
Bret endured a year of compressed agony. The foolishness of resuming the fight, the foolishness of not resuming it, the inextricable tangle of contradictory duties and impulses, shattered him. Eldon was undergoing the same return to chaos.
Yet the crowd shoving past observed nothing and did not pause. Bret felt Sheila’s hand clasp his arm both to protect and to be protected, and she urged him on. Then he managed to bow with formality to Eldon and to Dulcie. And so the great rencounter ended. Dulcie alone was made happy.
Sheila could not let her get away with that baby stare. She smiled with pretended amusement and said, “Thank you ever so much, Miss Ormerod.”
“Thank me for what?” gasped Dulcie. But Sheila just twinkled her eyes and smiled as she walked on.
Her muscles were tired for half an hour with the effort that smile cost them.
She led Bret to the box, and he was shivering with the unsatisfied emotions of a fighter for the battle missed. Sheila sank into a chair exhausted. She looked about anxiously. The one thing needed to complete the situation was for Eldon to walk into the next box and spend the rest of the afternoon. They were spared this coincidence.
Bret was in no mood to remain, but she kept him there. There would be some distraction at least in the spectacle. If they went back to their hotel they would have only their bitterness to chew upon.