Carlyon's guest returned to his
roof--cross-country trains were so tiresome--and it had just begun to
pour with rain, so there was no use expecting that Halcyone would be
there by the tree. And bed, with a rather feverish sensation of
disappointment, seemed John Derringham's portion.
Halcyone had passed a day of happy tranquillity. She was of that godlike
calm which frets not, believing always that only good could come to her,
and that, as she heard nothing from her lover, it was because--which was
indeed the truth--he was arranging for their future. If it had been fine
she had meant to go to the tree, but as it rained she went quietly to
her room, and let her Priscilla brush her hair for an hour, while she
stared in the old dark glass, seeing not her own pale and exquisite
face, but all sorts of pictures of future happiness. That she must not
tell her old nurse, for the moment, of her good fortune was her one
crumpled rose-leaf, but she had arranged that when she went she would
post a letter at once to her, and Priscilla would, of course, join her
in London, or wherever it was John Derringham would decide that she
should live.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230