She led him to Kate’s sick-room.
“Awake, Katy? You slept nicely. You feel better now. Here’s Eugene come to see you. I have got to go out, and Lizzie’s busy, so Eugene will sit in the next room and call her if you want anything. Good-by, dear!”
She was gone before he could say a word. In fifteen minutes she was in Dr. Enfield’s parlor. A riding whip and hat lay on a table. She walked from them to the back of the room. Cora came down in her habit. She had a cheerful greeting on her lips, and advanced toward Stella, but stopped half way; and Stella backed a step.
“Will you take a seat, Miss Grayland?” Cora said, with cold politeness.
“No,” she answered, only half conscious of her words, a burning shame and aversion enveloping her like a cloud and shutting out sight and sound. “I have come to tell you that my cousin is not going to ride—and—”
Cora was staring with a horrified expression past Stella’s head. She interrupted:
“That will do, Miss Grayland. Lawrence, you had better come in.”
Stella turned. The door behind her into Lawrence’s office stood open; he had come in unheard, and was leaning against the door-post, white in the face. Stella was startled, but she only bowed distantly and came out of the house. This was not altogether new to Lawrence; he had felt vaguely fearful before. Cora turned her back to him and looked out of the window; the prospect was sunny and bright with spring’s promise, but it did not look so to her. He came forward and stood beside her.
“So you are at the old game again,” he said. “What do you suppose will be the end if you keep on?”
She answered without turning or lifting her head, and in a hard bitter voice: