And all the time she thought dully: 'Why am I doing this? What do I care
how the place looks? It is not my home. It can never be my home!'
For lunch she drank some beef tea, keeping up the fiction of her
indisposition. After that, she sat down at her bureau to write.
Something must be decided! There she sat, her forehead on her hand, and
nothing came--not one word--not even the way to address him; just the
date, and that was all. At a ring of the bell she started up. She could
not see anybody! But the maid only brought a note from Aunt Rosamund,
and the dogs, who fell frantically on their mistress and instantly began
to fight for her possession. She went on her knees to separate them,
and enjoin peace and good-will, and their little avid tongues furiously
licked her cheeks. Under the eager touch of those wet tongues the band
round her brain and heart gave way; she was overwhelmed with longing for
her baby. Nearly a day since she had seen her--was it possible? Nearly
a day without sight of those solemn eyes and crinkled toes and fingers!
And followed by the dogs, she went upstairs.
The house was invisible from the music-room; and, spurred on by thought
that, until Fiorsen knew she was back, those two might be there in each
other's arms any moment of the day or night, Gyp wrote that evening:
"DEAR GUSTAV,--We are back.--GYP."
What else in the world could she say? He would not get it till he woke
about eleven.
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