Inez pleaded a headache upon reaching the villa, and asked that her lunch be sent to her room; but it was long after Annetta had left the tray upon the table that she was able to taste, even sparingly, the tempting delicacies which were placed before her. What can be more searching than a woman’s self-examination? She had told Armstrong that she blamed herself for her weakness; so she did, but it was not wholly the weakness of losing consciousness. Who was this man, and what this influence which had so suddenly entered into her life and assumed such immediate control over her? She felt that she could resist either separately, but together they produced a power which she questioned her ability to oppose. And the strange part of it all was that no one was forcing it upon her. She knew perfectly well that she need never go to the library again unless she chose; but she knew equally well what her choice must inevitably be, if the opportunity were offered her.
Even as she recalled her experience, a thrill half of delight, half of apprehension, passed over her. What did it all mean? Armstrong compelled her respect, but it was ridiculous even to wonder whether or not the sentiments he inspired were of a more serious nature. The subjects in which he was interested appealed to her highest self and fascinated her, but beyond this what possible force could they possess to render her so immediately subservient to their demands? What was there about it all which made it seem so inexpressively delicious? And what of him, of this man above whose head the ancients had already placed the halo of their approval, who stood to her as the personification of ideal manhood?
These were some of the questions Inez Thayer asked herself that afternoon, wrestling within and striving honestly to decide her course; but even as she did so she found her thoughts again centering themselves upon Armstrong as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried back to the experiences of the morning. She had no reasonable excuse to leave Florence, which instinctively she felt to be the safest thing to do; and, besides this, her spirit revolted at the thought that she could not meet the problem face to face and master it. She must do it, she would do it; and, having finally arrived at this determination, she came down, just before dinner, and joined her friends in the garden, where they were enjoying the soft close of the perfect Italian day.
“There you are!” Helen welcomed her with outstretched arms. “Is your headache better?”
“Yes, thank you,” Inez replied, forcing a smile; “the air was very close in the library, and then, too, I found so much to make me thoughtful.”
“Then you were not disappointed?” Emory asked.
“Disappointed? It was wonderful. You don’t know how much you all missed.”
“You look as if Jack had shown you some spooks,” remarked Eustis; “you are as white as one yourself.”
The color quickly returned to Inez’ face. “I am always like that when I have one of these wretched headaches,” she explained. “But, truly, I never had such a remarkable experience. I can quite understand Mr. Armstrong’s devotion. I never knew before how fascinating such learning really is.”
“Did he actually conjure up those old fellows and put them through their paces for you?” Emory asked.