She had made Sir Eustace the talk of the County. So
long as they remembered her they would never forgive her for that.
Sir Eustace might forgive. He had been extraordinarily generous. A lump
rose in her throat as she thought of him. But the de Vignes, all those
wedding guests who were to have honoured the occasion, they would all
look upon her with contumely for evermore. No wonder her mother was
enraged against her! No wonder! No wonder! She would never have another
chance of holding up her head in such society again.
A great sigh escaped her. What was the good of sitting there thinking?
She had undressed long ago, and she was cold from head to foot. Yet
somehow she had forgotten or been too miserable to go to bed. She
supposed she had been waiting for the soothing tears that did not come.
Or had she meant to pray? She could not remember, and in any case prayer
seemed out of the question. Her life had been filled with delight for a
few delirious weeks, but it had all drained away. She did not want it
back again. She scarcely knew what she wanted, save the great Impossible
for which she lacked the heart to pray. And no doubt God was angry with
her too, or she could not feel like this! So what was the good of
attempting it?
Wearily she turned to put out her candle. But ere her hand reached it,
she paused in swift apprehension.
The next instant sharply she started round to see the door open, and her
mother entered the room.
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