Could the closing of the eyes,
indeed, make all the difference? Life and the knowledge of life seemed
things far from her consciousness. Could one look like that--even in
sleep--and underneath--! Barrington broke away from his train of
thought, and woke her quickly.
She sat up and yawned.
"Parsons managed to catch you, then," she remarked.
"Yes!" he answered. "I was just off. I got away from Wills' dinner
party early, and called here for some notes. I must be at the
House"--he glanced at the clock--"in three-quarters of an hour!"
She nodded. "I won't keep you as long as that."
Her eyes met his, a little furtively, full of inquiry. "I have done
what you wished," he said quietly. "I called at the Clarence Hotel!"
"You saw him!"
"No! He sent back my card. He declined to see me."
She showed no sign of disappointment. She sat up and looked into the
fire, smoothing her hair mechanically with her hands.
"Personally," Barrington continued, "I could see no object whatever in
my visit. I have nothing to say to him, nor, I should think, he to me.
I am sorry for him, of course, but he'd never believe me if I told him
so. What happened to him was partly my fault, and unless he's changed,
he's not likely to forget it."
She swayed a little towards him.
"It was partly--also--mine," she murmured.
"I don't see that at all," he objected. "You at any rate were
blameless!"
She looked up at him, and he was astonished to find how pale she was.
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