and after ringing he went to his
dressing-room.

Certain words were gnawing within her. "The wrong you have done me will
be your own curse." As he closed the door, the bitter tears rose, and
the gnawing words provoked an answer: "Why did you put your fangs into
me and not into him?" It was uttered in a whisper, as the tears came up
silently. But she immediately pressed her handkerchief against her
eyes, and checked her tendency to sob.

The next day, recovered from the shuddering fit of this evening scene,
she determined to use the charter which Grandcourt had scornfully given
her, and to talk as much as she liked with Deronda; but no
opportunities occurred, and any little devices she could imagine for
creating them were rejected by her pride, which was now doubly active.
Not toward Deronda himself--she was singularly free from alarm lest he
should think her openness wanting in dignity: it was part of his power
over her that she believed him free from all misunderstanding as to the
way in which she appealed to him; or rather, that he should
misunderstand her had never entered into her mind. But the last morning
came, and still she had never been able to take up the dropped thread
of their talk, and she was without devices. She and Grandcourt were to
leave at three o'clock. It was too irritating that after a walk in the
grounds had been planned in Deronda's hearing, he did not present
himself to join in it. Grandcourt was gone with Sir Hugo to King's
Topping, to see the old manor-house; others of the gentlemen were
shooting; she was condemned to go and see the decoy and the waterfowl,
and everything else that she least wanted to see, with the ladies, with
old Lord Pentreath and his anecdotes, with Mr. Vandernoodt and his
admiring manners. The irritation became too strong for her; without
premeditation, she took advantage of the winding road to linger a
little out of sight, and then set off back to the house, almost running
when she was safe from observation. She entered by a side door, and the
library was on her left hand; Deronda, she knew, was often there; why
might she not turn in there as well as into any other room in the
house? She had been taken there expressly to see the illuminated family
tree, and other remarkable things--what more natural than that she
should like to look in again? The thing most to be feared was that the
room would be empty of Deronda, for the door was ajar. She pushed it
gently, and looke