"Well?"
questioned Arobin, who had remained with Edna after the others had departed.
"Well," she reiterated, and
stood up, stretching her arms, and feeling the need to relax her muscles after
having been so long seated.
"What next?" he asked.
"The servants are all gone.
They left when the musicians did. I have dismissed them. The house has to be
closed and locked, and I shall trot around to the pigeon house, and shall send
Celestine over in the morning to straighten things up."
He looked around, and began
to turn out some of the lights.
"What about upstairs?" he
inquired.
"I think it is all right; but
there may be a window or two unlatched. We had better look; you might take a
candle and see. And bring me my wrap and hat on the foot of the bed in the
middle room."
He went up with the light,
and Edna began closing doors and windows. She hated to shut in the smoke and the
fumes of the wine. Arobin found her cape and hat, which he brought down and
helped her to put on.
When everything was secured
and the lights put out, they left through the front door, Arobin locking it and
taking the key, which he carried for Edna. He helped her down the steps.
"Will you have a spray of
jessamine?" he asked, breaking off a few blossoms as he passed.
"No; I don't want anything."
She seemed disheartened, and
had nothing to say. She took his arm, which he offered her, holding up the
weight of her satin train with the other hand. She looked down, noticing the
black line of his leg moving in and out so close to her against the yellow
shimmer of her gown. There was the whistle of a railway train somewhere in the
distance, and the midnight bells were ringing. They met no one in their short
walk.
The "pigeon-house" stood
behind a locked gate, and a shallow parterre that had been
somewhat neglected. There was a small front porch, upon which a long window and
the front door opened. The door opened directly into the parlor; there was no
side entry. Back in the yard was a room for servants, in which old Celestine had
been ensconced.
Edna had left a lamp burning
low upon the table. She had succeeded in making the room look habitable and
homelike. There were some books on the table and a lounge near at hand. On the
floor was a fresh matting, covered with a rug or two; and on the walls hung a
few tasteful pictures. But the room was filled with flowers. These there a
surprise to her. Arobin had sent them, and had had Celestine distribute them
during Edna's absence. Her bedroom was adjoining, and across a small passage
were the dining-room and kitchen.
Edna seated herself with
every appearance of discomfort.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"Yes, and chilled, and
miserable. I feel as if I had been wound up to a certain pitch - too tight - and
something inside of me had snapped." She rested her head against the table upon
her bare arm.
"You want to rest," he said,
"and to be quiet. I'll go; I'll leave you and let you rest."
"Yes," she replied.
He stood up beside her and
smoothed her hair with his soft, magnetic hand. His touch conveyed to her a
certain physical comfort. She could have fallen quietly asleep there if he had
continued to pass his hand over her hair. He brushed the hair upward from the
nape of her neck.
"I hope you will feel better
and happier in the morning," he said. "You have tried to do too much in the past
few days. The dinner was the last straw; you might have dispensed with it."
"Yes," she admitted; "it was
stupid."
"No, it was delightful; but
it has worn you out." His hand had strayed to her beautiful shoulders, and he
could feel the response of her flesh to his touch. He
seated himself beside her and kissed her lightly upon the shoulder.
"I thought you were going
away," she said, in an uneven voice.
"I am, after I have said good
night."
"Good night," she murmured.
He did not answer, except to
continue to caress her. He did not say good night until she had become supple to
his gentle, seductive entreaties.