"No more worry, no more trouble, no more tears."
She was bewildered with the problems which confronted her, frightened by
the overwhelming odds against her, tired of thinking, sick to death of
the humiliation of her position. She stopped the guttural, wheedling
voice with a quick, vehement gesture.
"Give me time to think--give me until to-morrow morning."
"What time to-morrow morning?"
"At ten o'clock,"--there was desperation in her face--"at ten to-morrow
I will tell you 'yes' or 'no.'"
She was clutching at a straw, clinging to a faint hope which had not
entirely deserted her: she might yet get a letter from Van Lennop, just
a line to let her know that he cared enough to send it; and if it came,
a single sentence, she knew well enough what her answer to Dubois would
be.
"Until to-morrow." The old Frenchman bowed low in clumsy and
unaccustomed politeness, but gloating satisfaction shone from his
deep-set eyes, small and hard as two gray marbles.