night. He would probably have said this in any case, such consolatory
assurances being instinctive with him, but for a wonder he meant it.
He had looked forward to this meeting with reluctance and had only made
the call because even his complacent conscience had assured him that to
omit it would be inexcusable. And virtue had been unexpectedly
rewarded. He had enjoyed himself. He wanted to call again.

"Good night," said Persis, and neglected to assure him of her pleasure
in the anticipation of his speedy return. She withdrew her hand.
"Good night," she repeated. And if she recalled their last parting in
that very room, she was not sure whether the contrast was a ground for
laughter or for tears.

CHAPTER XI

'TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP

The night following Justin Ware's visit, Persis slept as soundly as a
tired child. It was not that the interview had relieved her
apprehensions nor in any way set her mind at rest, but after prolonged
uncertainty, even the realization of one's worst forebodings may come
as a relief. She slept late and rose more weary than when she went to
bed. Yet in spite of that numbing sense of lassitude which clung like
weights to her limbs, and for all her unaccustomed aversion to the
thought of work, she knew her battle was won. Never again would she
watch and listen and strangle at their birth, poor futile prayers for
some assurance that a man's heart was still hers.

As if some evil spell had been broken, she recalled with pangs of
self-reproach various duties she had neglected, in her unwonted
self-absorption. She had not even kept her promise to Doctor Ballard
to see his obdurate patient. Persis realized how completely she had
regained her poise when she chuckled over the plan which had suggested
itself as she listened to Doctor Ballard's diagnosis of Mrs. Richards'
ailment.

"I'm so kind of headachy and restless that my sewing's bound to be a
fizzle. I'll run in to see Charlotte this afternoon. It's a shame I
haven't been there before. Don't know what the doctor'll think of me."

Considering that she was merely planning a little friendly call on a
sick neighbor, Persis made her toilet with surprising care. In putting
up her hair she again selected Annabel Sinclair as a model. She donned
the gray crepe, a startling innovation, for in Clematis to wear a new
dress on week-days, for any occasion less important than a wedding or a
funeral, argued constitutional extr