She stopped on her way home to tell Sillon and Devery that "it was all
right." She let them know, modestly, that there was a certain person now
in France in whom she was profoundly interested, and that she had feared
some bad news in regard to him. Then she went to a quiet little
restaurant and ate a delicious little dinner all alone, and in the
chilly, cloudy evening walked home--a long walk.
She was enjoying a feeling of exquisite and complete triumph. She had
won! She was safe now, her troubles over. Certainly God had helped her.
She was young, beautiful, beloved; she was about to be rich. She had
made a gallant fight against great odds, and she had conquered.
She greeted her mother with unusual affection and was willing to talk
with her for quite a time, about her business, about the shortcomings of
the tenants, about everything in the world except what had happened.
That she didn’t mention.
She began slowly to undress while her mother was still in the kitchen,
ironing a collar for her to wear the next day. She looked at herself in
the mirror, in her dainty camisole--a beautiful woman, with her delicate
bare arms, her slender shoulders, her curious, glowing black eyes in her
pale and lovely face----
And suddenly, almost as if she saw it in the glass beside her own,
another face, fierce, hawk-like, rigid and white, with bright hair
spread out and floating as if in the sea. Her dead lover!