She
felt degraded, humiliated, she told herself. Not for a moment did she
admit, perhaps she did not know, that an insane jealousy was flooding
her being, that her indignation was based on personal as well as moral
grounds.
Something primitive stirred in her--a flare of feminine ferocity. She
felt hot to the touch, an active volcano ready for eruption. If only
she could get a chance to strike back in a way that would hurt, to
wound him as deeply as he had her!
Pat to her desire came the opportunity. Clay's card was brought in to
her by Jenkins.
"Tell Mr. Lindsay I'll see him in a few minutes," she told the man.
The few minutes stretched to a long quarter of an hour before she
descended. To the outward eye at least Miss Whitford looked a woman of
the world, sheathed in a plate armor of conventionality. As soon as
his eyes fell on her Clay knew that this pale, slim girl in the
close-fitting gown was a stranger to him. Her eyes, star-bright and
burning like live coals, warned him that the friend whose youth had run
out so eagerly to meet his was hidden deep in her to-day.
"I reckon I owe you and Mr. Whitford an apology," he said. "No need to
tell you how I happened to leave last night. I expect you know."
"I know why you left--yes."
"I'd like to explain it to you so you'll understand."
"Why take the trouble? I think I understand." She spoke in an even,
schooled voice that set him at a distance.
"Still, I want you to know how I feel.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144