What had come over her? If anybody
had told her beforehand that she could ever let slip her power over her
own will like this, ever become possessed with this silent, obstinate
demon of wounded love and pride, never would she have believed them! She
moved under its grip like an automaton. She would not quarrel with
Arthur. But as no soft confession was possible, and no mending or
undoing of what had happened, to laugh her way through the difficult
hours was all that remained. So that whenever Meadows renewed the
attempt to "have it out," he was met by renewed evasion and "chaff" on
Doris's side, till he could only retreat with as much offended dignity
as she allowed him.
It was after midnight before she had finished his packing. Then, bidding
him a smiling good night, she fell asleep--apparently--as soon as her
head touched the pillow.
The next morning, early, she stood on the steps waving farewell to
Arthur, without a trace of ill-humour. And he, though vaguely
uncomfortable, had submitted at last to what he felt was her fixed
purpose of avoiding a scene.
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