he now stood leaning her arm upon
the mantelshelf and looking into the fire,--all that she was afraid of
was of looking back. It was for Gerald that she was waiting and it was
Gerald's note that hung from her hand against her knee, and since that
note had come, not long after Franklin had left her, her thoughts had
been centred on the coming interview. Gerald had not written to her
from the country; she had expected to have an answer to her announcement
that morning, but none had come. This note had been brought by hand, and
it said that if he could not find her at four would she kindly name some
other hour when he might do so. She had answered that he would find her,
and it was now five minutes to the hour.

Gerald's note had not said much more, and yet, in the little it did say,
it had contrived to be tense and cool. It seemed to intimate that he
reserved a great deal to say to her, and that, perhaps more, he reserved
a great deal to think and not to say. It was a note that had startled
her and that then had filled her with a bitterness of heart greater than
any she had ever known. For that she would not accept, not that tone
from Gerald. That it should be Gerald--Gerald of all the people in the
world--to adopt that tone to her! The exceeding irony of it brought a
laugh to her lips. She was on edge. Her strength had only just taken her
through the morning and its revelations, there was none left now for
patience and evasion. Gerald must be careful, was the thought that
followed the laugh.

CHAPTER XXVI.

She heard the door-bell ring, and then his quick step. It did not seem
to her this afternoon that she had to master the disquiet of heart that
his coming always brought. It was something steeled and hostile that
waited for him.

When he had entered and stood before her she saw that he intended to be
careful, to be very careful, and the recognition of that attitude in him
gave further bitterness to her cold, her fierce revolt. What right had
he to that bright formal smile, that chill pressure of her fingers, that
air of crisp cheerfulness, as of one injured but willing, magnanimously,
to conceal his hurt? What right--good heavens!--had Gerald to feel
injured? She almost laughed again as she looked at him and at this
unveiling of his sublime self-centredness. He expected to find his world
just as he would have it, his cushion at his head and his footstool at
his feet, the wife in her place fulfilling her com